When I was three my mother was murdered, or accidently killed as the police would say. She was shot fourteen times in the chest and once in the head, execution style. Although I was at a young age, I can remember almost everything my mother said and did in front of me, the memories replay in my dreams. Sometimes they haunt me as if her death was my fault, other times they caress me and coax me to sleep.
She was nineteen when she died, barely an adult. Her parents disowned her due to her pregnancy, and she was forced to live life out on the streets. But I was told that she was never once afraid, instead of cowering and begging for her life she bared her fangs and became a gang leader of over fifty men. I was never told who my father was, my mother only gave me a locket that will not open without a key and with it she said that inside are the pictures of the people I'm related to.
Thirteen years have passed since her death, and everyday I can't help but wonder why she died...
