The Price ࿊f Peace

☮️:009

A/N I am in no way glorifying gangbanging nor am I in support of what it's done to our community. This is strictly for fictional purposes. These gangs are imaginary and do not really exist under the crip or blood banners. The street names and members are also fictional.
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Somewhere in Oakland
Monday April 22, 2024

Steam was practically coming out of her ears as she stood in her kitchen, staring down at the flurry of messages pouring from her phone.

The constant buzz of it against her kitchen counter was enough to make her want to kill the people sending the messages and get it over with.

Syara was receiving messages from over 6 people from multiple different numbers. They were trying to bang on her after some sneak sent her story around where she had chucked up her hood.

Her account was private, but it seemed she had let the wrong person into her account.

She'd understand if it was women from another gang or just women in general, but it was mostly men and only two women.

She was mentally kicking herself for not being more careful. Tears rolled down her face, ruining her makeup from the day.

It wasn't like she was scared.

Syara had a gun for a reason.

Getting into it with other sets wasn't something that she was new to. She was just trying to do better. Better wasn't fighting or having to kill niggas for playing with you. It's staying out of the mix and straight up doing better.

As her phone buzzed repeatedly, she could do nothing but cry silently. Deep in her chest, she felt burning as her fingers gripped the counter. She wanted to throw her phone, to go find them each, one by one. To kill them.

She stopped reading the messages after the fifth time one of them had disrespected her dead homies. After that, they kept spamming names of people she knew who had died in her set.

The last time she checked a message, it was a few of the men saying what they would do when they caught up with her. It made her stomach churn a little.

Syara knew better than to ask for any kind of help. She made a choice when she joined the gang at 15. And now she was dealing with the consequences of her decisions.

She repped hers proudly and had caught bodies behind it too. She'd been shot at for it, she'd fought for it.

But Syara was trying to go to school. Syara wanted to live without bullshit on her back. Syara wasn't trying to go to prison over this shit.

She had just gotten home from work, she'd caught a ride from Kisses. At this point, she'd just have to learn how to change a tire herself. Which was honestly a skill she figured she needed in the long run anyway.

She had gotten her car to a mechanic's, but they were taking their time a little too much for her liking. It had been 5 days since it was taken up there and she still had yet to get it back.

If she had it, she'd have been looking for the people who kept blowing up her phone right that moment. 

It was obvious that their intentions were to joan her, to troll, and make her angry over the fact that she couldn't get to them.

Too much was going on at the moment: angry tears were salting her face, her fingernails were on the verge of ripping from their nail beds on her counter, and her phone was buzzing so much that it was close to falling to the floor.

Syara just stood there, trying to slow her breathing. She hated getting this angry. Ever since she was young, all she could do was take it out on herself, whether it was pinching herself, scratching, biting, pulling at her hair from the scalp, withholding food from herself as punishment like her foster parents did, hitting herself, or even just banging her head on the nearest wall.