Savage Black was born and raised in Harlem, New York for half her life. After her father passes away from Parkinson's Disease, two months later her mother loses her job. Now at the age 21 struggling to make ends meet, Savage tries to make her dreams...
"Where is it!" The voice exclaims in anger. I slowly step down the steps, hearing boxes and bags shuffle around in the kitchen. I approach the door frame, peeping around it as the dark room shows no one in particular. I slowly walk towards the shed, opening the cracked door to see further in. It's Avant, tearing the shed apart with no remorse.
"What are you doing?" I question. He didn't answer me which only meant he didn't hear me. I study his black khaki pants, tilting my head as I remember that day.
"Can I use your phone? I need to call my car dealer. I was on my way to get gas in my car, but I realized I left out without my wallet. I went to get it but ended up locking my keys inside the car while it was still running. And now the battery is dead." The words replayed in my head. When I left for the poetry slam that day, I had forgot to lock that door. Avant was waiting patiently for me to leave too.
"Sadie? Savage? Are you in here?" Ms. Stocks calls. Avant stands up with a quickness, making his way to the shed door getting sliced in the arm by broken glass that stuck out of the door. The three blood droplets, cascading to the floor. He scurries out back as I leave out the shed, screaming when I felt someone grab me. They cover my mouth taking me into a dark enclosed room as I try to get loose.
I sit up in a cold sweats panting as I see the clock read 4:35am. The lightening flashes my room, the thunder booming through the night sky. I sigh heavily and swing my feet to the side of the bed, placing my feet on the floor. I grab my towel off the chair that sits under the window and make my way to the bathroom.
After a long hot shower, I get dressed and change my sheets after. I was pouring sweat in my sleep and I couldn't lay back down in that. The sheets were soaked.
Once done with making the bed, I sit on the side of it and open my nightstand drawer. I take out the journal I found yesterday, realizing this is what Avant was looking for. It made me wonder, what is so important in here that he had to break into our house to find it. I untie the leather string out the loop, and open it to the first page. I could hear my father's voice as I began to read.
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August 2, 2004
We're in Lagos, Nigeria. It's a hot summers day and we've been in the country for two years almost. We're here to stop the attacks on Lagos from their enemies. The murder rate is very high around this year. There are so many dead bodies and injured civilians. The crying women and men laying in the deserted alley's, even lost babies crying by their dead parents. It makes me think of my little girl and how she's doing, also my wife who holds the fort down at home.
When you're out here, you see a lot of crazy shit, you think a lot of crazy as well. I remember my pop telling the stories of the shit he seen. The harsh howling at night from the pain someone endured. The wounded soldiers losing their limbs from a bomb attack, or someone shooting it off. Well I've witnessed something so tragic. Something I had to do but didn't want too.
