Figure 5

Chapter 1: 

Her heart was leading her one way and her mind was leading her another, at least that was the conclusion she came to when deciding upon weather she should experience a moment of freedom or pass the joint to the new boy- Double D, a name with many pretentious assumptions just trailing behind the meaning of the word.

The joint was in her favor.

Madame Smith had multiple times confiscated their rights when finding them with a cigar in the basement. But today, the odor of decaying debris and trash masked the calming scent mint and tobacco. Jackie knew that the ally-way would be the condemning factor that would lead the gang into the depths of hell, or worse the detention center, but she pretended to be oblivious to the fact and accepted the cigar from Hanz.

No one spoke to Hanz without a certain fear, trembling hands, and a classified .45 caliber stashed in his back pocket. The tattoos traced his pale skull line, and imprinted a bloodcurdling image on both his figure and society.

Double D broke into her very soul, trying to gather the scraps that she left behind. His eyes captured her face, her neck, trailing lower, and lower. Jackie shifted and zipped her torn hoodie, and didn’t wait to experience the freedom, ignoring the Afro that was floating her way. She jammed the cigar in her mouth, feeding herself cinnamon and tar alike.

She took a puff of freedom, and her barriers opened.

She took a puff of love, and bits of heart that were left revealed.

She took a puff of dreams, and her world was discovered.

Red and Orange were scattered abundantly upon the trees. The two men that sat in front of her wore serene expressions. Double D grabbed the happiness from her, but the feeling still remained. Ecstacy ran through her veins- turning her black blood to white. Her stick thin arms enclosed the world around her, and Jackie, Jackie Abrahms, was on the top of the world.

Hanz walked towards her. His eyes burned of a Satanic presence- but Satan was hidden beneath clouds and the Garden of Eden.

He cupped her chin, but Jackie’s eyes were focused on the golden horse passing by.

“That’s a pretty horse. Very pretty. Look at it’s fur, Hanz look!” The youth radiated within her pupils. He smirked.

Double D’s hands trembled as he handed the cigar back to Hanz.

“S..S…Sir.” Hanz gave a nod as Double D trekked back. The African-American was undoubtley drawn to the girl. He had only seldom gotten glimpses of the real brunette, however. Majority of the time when the girl came in his view it was the cannibis laughing.

“Horsie! Get me the horse Hanz…pleasee. The horsie is talking!” Her giggles consumed the silent air. She escaped from Hanz’s grip and let go. Her feet twirled through the grasses. She danced, and danced, and danced. The moonlight sculptured her face- the little girl emerged.

Hanz stood with his hands enveloped, and a stoic expression painted on his face.

“She knows too much.” His voice thundered. “About the bombing.”

Double D glanced up. His eyes never met Hanz’s, as one look with burn him to ashes.

He had never experienced the wrath, but have heard of the stories of the unfortunate victims of the group home.

“We need to do something.  Get me the iron pump.”

Double D knew the fate, and pity for the girl was the only feeling left. But he was powerless as he reached for the metallic tool, a tool of hell. Dried blood was splattered among the butt of the pump. He walked toward Hanz, an incarnation of Satan himself.

Hanz grabbed the five feet long iron pump, and twirled it along his burly hands.

Jackie was spread out among the grass, a vaneer of happiness enshrouding her fragile frame.

“Hanz! The horsie is gone! But it’s okay!!! He said he’ll come back. He’ll come back, right Hanz?”

Death towered over her.

     One.

     Two.

     Three.

     Clang.