In Flames Lie Darkness (Incomplete Fist Draft)

Chapter 8

I could soon hear the results of the announcement. People yelling and panicking in their homes. Families packing their things. It seems like small changes were made, in a sense. After all, each one was announced in a couple of short sentences. But each change, each law erased and rule put in place, felt weighted. Like this is only the beginning of the end. If they can take away things like the entire constitution, what else can they do? What will be our future? On top of that, I can practically already hear the more criminal side of the United States start to use this to their advantage. After all, if the Constitution and its amendments were gone along with the government, there is nobody to make laws or enforce them. Who's going to stop people, if they decide to do horrendous things?

Just as I think this, a gunshot rings out, and just like that, the massacre begins. Windows break, car alarms go off, and screams ring in my ears in a chaotic harmony, almost like music cracking through the stiff air. The smell of blood rises, all too familiar, and I grip my own arm so tightly that my nails break the skin.

I have to get out here.

I get to my room, and peak in, only to find Sabrina isn't there, thankfully. She must have gone to the bathroom or something, which gives me a window of opportunity to grab my things. I hurriedly pack all I can think to pack into a small suitcase I have, leaving anything I deem to be unimportant. I change into plain looking clothes, put on a baseball hat to hide my hair, and don a medical face mask before walking to the door. I take a final glance into the now barren room, before closing the door behind me and hurrying down the hall and to the door. I feel terrible leaving Sabrina behind, but this is what's best for her. She's going to be happier without me, and safer. Nobody is looking for her, while I'm a wanted criminal. I'm fine going down, but I can't drag yet another person down with me.

My last moments in this house are enveloped with an emotion words can't describe, heavy, but not suffocating, not sad and not happy, caught in between. I haven't spent much time in this house, but I can't help but remember when I moved here. At the time, I was only around 10. An adult would come every two days to check on me, but for the most part I was left to my own devices. I guess that's one of the perks to being the child of a criminal. It was so freeing being here. Like I finally had a choice in my life, instead of things constantly being decided for me by either my parents or the government. I guess I will always feel attached to these walls, but I will never miss them. This place isn't my home. I've lived here, but always by myself. It's just a hollow place.

Finally, I turn and step out. My motorcycle is still at the school, so that's where I head. I'm still a bit tired, and hurt, but it's fine. I flee under the cover of violence, running as if my life depends on it, and in a sense it does. If anyone recognises me, it's game over.

Worst part is I've been targeted in the past. I already had several locks put in place and motion sensing cameras installed because of how often I've been chased. My father may be rotting in his grave by now, but who knows how many people are still looking for me? The thing about having to do with a gang is that it stays with you forever, like a brand on your shoulder revealing you to the world. It's hideous, and ugly, and even though it's in the past, it's always there to remind you you're not free and never will be. There have been so many times I couldn't sleep because someone decided to come after me. So many times I've had to walk with my keys in between my knuckles because someone was following me, and I knew exactly why. So many times I had to decide whether I could keep living like this. I have so many scars on my torso and back from knives and other weaponry that had been used to scare me to get information I didn't have. Bruises from less than a week ago from people getting 'justice' for people they lost to the wrath of my father. Memories of loneliness and pain from the people who 'help' kids like me.

The thing is, once people know you used to be associated with a gang, they forget you're a person, instead of a tool.

I continue on, running past carnage and car wrecks. Figures in black fight in a shadowy dance of death, all competing to be the lone survivor. I wonder how many people have already been massacred? The numbers must be in the hundreds, if not thousands. The corpses of children and their families are proudly displayed as factions are created. Battle cries mix in the air with screams. Everyone is dying. Where is the government in all of this? Why won't anyone do anything?