A wise woman once said we are products of our environment, how right was she?
I killed for him; not for the love of something that can never mine, but violence in my life pulled my soul towards the darkness but I fought to free my soul. Men are the...
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Weeks progress of the same bullshit; another student trying to step up to me, another hour at the principal office with my uncle on the other end making threats to him, only to go home to get more training. If I wasn't training then I was standing by my uncle's side as his goons took more lives. And yet, there I stood like the prince of darkness getting train to take over the kingdom of hell. But the only thing that kept me distracted from the smell of blood and lifeless bodies that laid on the floor before me was the girl who sat next to me in chemistry class. I had a whole notebook of drawings of her lovely face. As I stood before two men screaming in agony in front Us begging for mercy all I can picture is her under that tree in completely away from all the bullshit around her. She was the only one who kept me sane in this life. She kept distracted from my uncle and from school. He face haunted my mind like a ghost in house.
After lifeless bodies were drag away, I rushed to the usual uptown apartment in upper-class Manhattan, where all rich O' school New Yorkers own their own building, there was no parking in sight.
My uncle hired all kinds of tutors for my failing grades, but I mostly enjoy the English tutor who was an interesting articulate man. A man with dark sunken eyes with salt and pepper hair, pushing seventy. But he was in debt with my uncle, which work out in his mind perfectly. Paid the debt with private tutors. I knock on he's door as I usual I can hear him shifting around and mumbling around, talking to himself. He was a well-known professor in Harvard but had to retire because like he said, "My mind isn't what it used to be. Sometimes I think its 1942 then 1998 but I never know."
As he opened the door the smell of old leather and paper hit my nostrils as they flare-up taking the lovely scent of knowledge in. His house was filled with floor to ceiling books and newspaper, complete fire hazard but this was him. I couldn't see much of the views from the windows since he was a complete hoarder.
"Alek! Comment vas-tu aujourd'Hui?" ( How are you today?)
Mr. Mann knew a handful of languages but love French. He said it reminded him of his lovely wife. The woman who adores this man must have the patience of a saint.
"COME COME, Today I'll show you some mix words to get some of that Italian linguistic in control; even though I do adore the language. Do you know that the Italian alphabet only contains 21 letters; lacks j,k,w,x, and y."
He was always filled with fun facts, sometimes I believe he liked to hear his own voice because he spend countless hours just talking away about current events to some weird thing about flavors of Gelato. It's always endless conversations. A part of me was intrigued with all the information that cramped into that brain of his. He can't even sit more than ten minutes always scuffing around his home, going through books, newspapers, written essays or some type of journal. "Look here son, read this book War and Peace." I grab the heavy book and felt like my life was going to change forever.
I love my Italian but I wanted to learn English, well since that was one of the reasons I didn't speak to anyone, I was too embarrassed to speak. "Ready, the Red ribbon ripped rapidly apart."
