Trap Queen.

                                             PROLOGUE ▼

       "C'mon Egypt. We don't want to be late for the bus," my mom called from downstairs. Her voice was hollow - I knew she had to be exhausted from all the packing we was doing.

I heard her, but I was doing my to best to stall from upstairs. Something in me was telling me that it'd be better to go ahead, but I was apprehensive. It didn't seem right - packing up everything we knew to go to a completely unfamiliar place. I knew it'd be better to face it head on; we were moving to California. 

   "Egypt, girl, I'm not telling you again!" 

I drug my feet down the steps from my old room to the front door. Momma frowned, but didn't bother scolding me. She snatched my bag from my hands and drug it through the grass, through the concrete and finally onto the sidewalk. I sighed.

       "This ain't up for discussion, Egypt. You know we need this money. You know we poor. We can't afford to stay up here."  My throat got hot, but I didn't even bother to respond.

I turned around to look back at my house one last time. Of course, it wasn't anything to write home about, but it was my house. The chipping paint, the cracked windows, the fucked up blinds - all of that was familiar to me. It wasn't a mansion, but me and Momma made it special.

      "Just think - when we go to California, you'll be able to see the family. Auntie, big momma, uncle, your cousins, everybody!" Momma chirped. I cracked a slight smile at Momma's excitement, even though I really wanted to bust out crying.

"Uncle Louis say they got good jobs in California. I can get me a good job at one of them factories," Momma continued. "Baby, you just gotta trust me. I would never do nothing to put us danger. We gotta grind for the things we want. We can't just be sitting around waiting for somebody to give it to us."

     ▼ ▼ ▼

       "Wake up girl, we're here." My mom whispered, shaking me softly. I looked outside the window and immediately scowled. 

Everything on the block looked the same. Same dead grass, same wired fences, same basic homes. Pit bulls roamed the streets without collars. Men sat outside on their porches, drinking, smoking and being obnoxious in general.

      Momma took my hand and lead me to a modest home. It was white with red borders. There was a big garage in the front, with a window beside the door. It was only one story. The grass was dead, the painting on the house was chipped, and there wasn't even a porch. I was seething.

       As momma opened the door, and the stench of cigarettes blew back in my face. Our furniture was already there, looking raggedy as well. There was only two small bedrooms in the back of the house, and the kitchen was in the very front. 

"How do you like it?" Momma grinned. 

       "It's alright," I lied. I sat beside the window and peered out. The people outside were laughing, drinking and had on beaming smiles. They enjoyed the life they lived here in Compton. This was home to them, but it'll never be home for me.