Child Soldier

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In June of 2013, I experienced war for the first time. It was dark out, and I had been outside more than 5 minutes after the street lights had made their luminescent patterns on the asphalt. I knew that the second my mom saw my little brown hair bobbing uncontrollably up the street, I was in trouble. Knowing me, I was having too much fun with my friends, so I was willing to take whatever punishment followed behind me.

My friends and I had already been around weapons. Really, we had our own sort of “business,” which required guns. Everyone had bragged about them using theirs once or twice to scare people, or get a little extra money, but I was stuck with hiding mine under the hardwood in my room so my mom wouldn’t see it. I'd get in even more trouble if she pushed me to tell the story of how I got it, because I’m sure it was stolen. Nobody ever asked me what I used mine for, or if I have used it, and I was glad I didn’t have to make up some weird story to sound cool.

We had been outside for about 3 hours, so it was well around 10 at night. I was about to make my 5th basket of the quarter, when one of my friends came out of the house, screaming. I tossed the ball in the ditch and ran, as a silver car came speeding through the court, running a few guys over. Bodies unrealistically flew around and smacked upon the ground, and a series of screams followed by a motor, was the only sounds that filled the air. I pulled the rose gold cannon out from around my tube sock, and bolted over the fence. I felt like I was in the Olympics by how far I had ran and jumped over the barrier. The car went through the wide space that was absent of any fencing, and proceeded after me. I knew that I had someone pointing something at me, because I knew exactly who it was. The guy who had been guarding me, just so happened to be trailing behind, and veered right while I went left. No shots were fired, but the car steered his direction, as I ran closer and closer to my house.

I run faster and faster, but I take a wrong turn and end up about half a mile away. I didn’t want to risk any chances and pull out my flashlight so I can find a path home, much less turn around. I stayed away from  the street lights as best as I could. I find the familiar half pipe my friends and I use to skateboard, and became very familiar of where I was. I stop for a minute and realise I still had Rosaline clutched in my hand. My knuckles were white, and my index finger was gripping the top of the gun. I was shaking, my breathing was irregular, and I was sure I was hearing things because it sounded like someone was calling my name. I respond, and see a familiar face approaching me. His face was red, and had tears streaming down his face. Not even 5 minutes ago, he had a smile on his face and was unaware that we were going to have a shakedown. I didn’t know either. He grabs my hand and pulls me in the direction of the war zone. I jerk away quickly. “What the hell are you doing?!” I ask him, and he interrupts with “We have to go back. Real fast.” I think for a second and realise that he isn’t being 100% irrational. We run back and hide in the bushes while we watch the scene. 2 out of the 5 or 6 people I remember getting hit, had still been on the ground. Tire marks etched along the green court just inches shy of the 3 point line.

Nearby neighbours were outside of the court, and one person was crying while talking in an inaudible tone, into her phone. “Dude, she probably called the cops, they’ll see us if we go out there.” He looks at me and runs out onto the court. A few of the bystanders run away, thinking the enemies were coming back for seconds, and he bends over one of the bodies. He’s breathing hard, shaking them vigorously as the body jolts awake. I run to the other body and freeze. The person that screamed just seconds before this happened, laid twisted on the ground. Blood had already began to cake up around the nose and one of their eyes. The body was on its side, fighting for air. A bubble of blood had formed around the nostril pointed closest to the ground, and popped. His hair was parted by his own blood, followed by a huge gash and a piece of the car. I noticed tears, and the longer I stood there and looked, the more blurry it got because I noticed I was crying too. “I’m gonna get you some help, ok. I’m here.”

I wasn’t too medically experienced at that time, but I did everything I could. I stayed until the ambulance came, and luckily they beat the cops, because I ran away right after. I threw up my hands in the certain position and ran back to the same spot I left my gun.

The friend that ran out first, had already beat me to the spot. We ran together down another street and encountered an abandoned house. He pulled the wood off the window and jumped in, scraping his leg on the way down. I went in next, making sure I didn’t do what he did. His landing was followed by a bunch of swearing and noise from the junk inside the house. I examined his leg and he was okay. He was more shook up about going back to the scene. I was more shook up about seeing a body in the state it was in. All bent in odd ways, helpless, but yet so helpful in saving us enough for us to hide here for a minute.

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