Tales From A Statistic.

"The Gang Affiliate."

J A H L I L
Praised.  Admired.  Loved.

I LIVED UP to my name- believe me I did. I was praised. . .admired. . .and loved. And if you plan on asking around about me you oughta ask my mama. . .she'll tell you. Yeah, she'll tell you how I lived-and how I was going to live. There was nothing I couldn't do in her eyes-nothing. I was her son and she was my mother. . . I was her sun and she was my moon. Maybe she'll tell you how I got my name- how she looked into my eyes after the nurse placed me in her arms upon exiting her womb, how she knew my worth before she knew my weight. How she knew I was worthy to be praised. But despite all of her-excuse me-our stories of who Jahlil Kelly lived to be, she won't tell you how he died- how I died.

I figure she died with me. . . I know she did. . . I knew she did. I just knew so as I laid on that cold sidewalk in my lonesome. . . as the metallic taste of my blood seeped from my mouth. I knew when I looked up at that dark sky. . . I searched and searched-but the moon wasn't out. It wasn't there to oppose the darkness. . . It wasn't shining. That's when I knew. . .My mama died right with me.

Now, don't get to asking me about my pops. . . or my brother. . .or my sisters. . .or anyone else for that matter. The only person I came to terms with speaking on is my ma. But if you really are that curious, I'll have you know. . .they just as dead as me-internally of course.

I thought about them all in the fit of my demise. But it was my girlfriend's voice I heard last. My Zora. I want her to move on, hell its been a year-but she won't. She deserves to be happy, you know? Yeah, she was mine and I was hers. . .but my love for her is way too strong for me to even have a desire for her to be unhappy.

Z, let me go. It'll be better for the both of us.

Anyways, let's get into the real story. Jahlil's story. My tale- a tale from just another statistic.

-

"AND TOUCHDOWN FROM Jefferson High's number seven! Jahlil Kelly!" Zora mocked the announcer from today's game, recalling the point in which I scored six points for Jefferson. She always had a way of cheering me up, seeing that I was down because we ultimately lost the game.

I let out a small chuckle as we walked through the night, as I held my gear in hand. I noticed she still held the poster she had crafted the night before that read "NUMBER SEVEN IS MR.PERFECTION!" Corny, it was, but it made sense being that the number seven itself meant perfection. Even when I lose she makes me feel like a damn winner-that's gotta be one of her specialties.

"You and that corny ole poster." I joked causing her to roll her umber eyes that I admired as the street lights illuminated the dark skies, displaying a color similar to that of a medallion. If the sweetest of words withheld a physical embodiment, I'm most sure that the stanzas would look much like Zora. My Zora. She was the Alpha to my Omega and I know she knows just that.