Matthew Jamerson

Walking down the street was sort of like jumping from the rooftops of a house in some place nice, like massachusetts. Dodging the cars, the people, the bikes, it's insane. I don't understand why I live here, I sort of like the air, but the people, and traffic, it's all just crazy. I could live here, if no one else did. Sometimes I dreamed of just wiping the place out, but that could be too hard, and I could die trying, and there would be no point in killing everyone just to die trying. After I crossed the street, I walked up to the door of my one room apartment. The door is so cracked up, and the stairs leading to it are gone, broken in the gang fights. I jumped up to my door, thinking of the day when the gangs broke out onto the streets and just killed everyone in sight. I got to my house, and my girlfriend was one leg in, one leg out, but she was too late. The shot her, with precision aim straight in the head and she died the next day. Some guy from one gang might've thought she was the other gang. Gang day is horrible, why it exists? I don't know. That day is always insane, horribly insane, and the killers get away, because the town has ordered it a "Holiday." They think that hundreds of people dying on one day is a "Holiday"? That day is awful, I remembered the day she died. I lay on my bed, motionless. Tears formed in my eyes. Crazy right? A man born and raised in Detroit cried. I didn't cry, I sat on my bed and tried to feel the pain she did. I held my head underneath the sink for as long as I could, I do that everytime someone I care about dies. I've done it so many times I lost count. I"ve thought of joining these gangs so many times, for protection. But I'll tell you why I don't do it. My friend had the idea I had, join a gang for protection. He joined, and the other gang members thought he was a spy, so they killed him.

        Detroit is an amazing place, don't get me wrong, but it's to tiring to live here sometimes. I walked into my apartment, I saw the stains on the floor where the tape had been. I walked over to my CD player opened the lid and set in my favorite album. My prize possesion, an autographed "Blink-182" CD. I never take it out of its case, unless I'm listening to it. I flipped to my favorite song, "Dammit" blasted, and my neighbor knocked on the wall twice. That was our code to turn it down. I knocked back twice as well, he laughed. "Fuck off." I said in a stern voice. "I'll pay you later, and not full! It was crap! You tried to pull my... You fuck off Jamerson!" He yelled in a voice as hard as a rock."I'm sick of talking to you, and you can't boss me around anymore!" I hated this maggot, but it's time I took my world back. "Look hun," (His code word for Prostitute) "Jamerson is finally standing up!" I walked out of my home at this point. I walked to his. I stuck my Leathermen into the door, cut the rope lock, bursted in and set the prostitute free. "Run bitch, before I make you." I said the prostitute. "Now it's time to deal with you." I said looking at my neighbor. As soon as the prostitute left I closed the door, and my leathermen shot up as fast as water falls from a waterfall. My neighbor looked scared. "Look Matt, I was just kiddin." I knew he wasn't and I wasn't in a forgiving mood. "Well, maybe little ol' Jamerson would just forgive me why not?" I said in a voice such as my neighbors. "Not that mood today bitch." I closed my knife. "Get back to your Porno, live another die dick." I walked towards his day, he turned around and sat down. I crept up behind him. "Watcha doin Jamer-" I was right infront of his chest with the bud of my knife pointing at his heart. "Then again, die another day isn't as bad. This is Detroit, we're always standing up here." I clicked the button on my switchblade and it went into his chest. He was a big guy, so I slit his throat as well. He choked on blood and I laughed. The rush, it was fantastic. I walked out, I knew it, something had changed. 

        My blood was the wind. Surging in great heaps. I knew that I had done something there. Something inhumane, but I loved it. I walked back to my house, cleaned my knife in the sink I held my breath under and I knew, I'll never use this sink again. I packed everything I had. My TV, my close, my radio, and my CD player. I took my knife and wrote in the walls. It was the same words that were on my necklace. "Fuck off, and keep quiet." The 5 most important words you need to know to live in Detroit successfully. 

        Tomorrow is gang day. I needed to join a gang fast. I don't want to spend another damn day in Detroit, if I'm not in a gang. This is too dangerous. I knew where my friend had gone, where they had killed him. I'm not an idiot, so I'm not going to do the same thing he did. I went to where he went, the same place called "Crud Head Quarters." We all new that was where the "Blips"  hung out and killed people who walked in, and out. I saw a man sitting down. "So you wanna join the Cruds?" He said. He looked poorly educated, and he was missing most of his teeth. "No, I want to join the Blips." He opened his mouth, as if someone finaly got it. "Come over here son." He said to me. He grabbed me by the arm. "Chicken strips and cocktail cocks." He said. This was obviously some sort of in gang safe word. "Match, someone wants to join the Blips." A man emerged from the bushes. "You got nerve kid, what's your name?" Said the man, probably named Match.  "Matthew, Mathew Jamerson."