He’s running. Running down an alley at the speed of lightning. It’s dark and the ground is muddy. The alley has some turns that lead to other places. He thinks about turning, but he might turn right into a dead end. He feels his legs are almost about to give out but he has to keep on running. He hears his feet splashing on the muddy ground and the footsteps behind him closing in little by little. He can hear the people behind him yelling.

“I’m gonna kill you muthafucka!”

“You better keep goin’ bitch.”

He speeds up. He can now hear the splash of their feet getting further. He’s confident. He thinks he might get away. He doesn’t look back he just keeps on running. He’s home free-he’s ten feet away from the end of the tunnel. BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM! He hears the gunshots and sees sparks hitting the walls and a nearby fence. He makes it to the end of the alley and makes a sharp right. He’s out.

He’s still running. He’s almost to the corner when he sees a late 70’s early 80’s Caprice Classic pull up at the corner with one door open and a person hanging out of the door. The man has a beanie on his head and a blue bandanna covering his face. He has a gun drawn. All he’s focused on is this man’s eyes. His eyes are black and filled with hate. He slows to a halt, and sees sparks fly. BOOM!

Jose wakes up out of his sleep. He’s sweating, but he’s glad to be alive. It was only a dream. He looks over at the counter beside his bed and looks at the clock, 6:28. Two minutes before his alarm is supposed to ring. He has already had this same exact dream four times, and it was the second time this week. He thought he might really die. He gets up out of bed and gets in the shower. While he’s bathing, he tries to tell himself that it was only a dream and that he was in no immediate danger, but it doesn’t ease the fear. This fear is strange. It’s stronger than any other fear he has had. He has the right to be afraid like this because it’s only June and twelve of his friends have already been killed this year.

Jose is five feet and seven inches tall. He is muscular and has a look that will kill a dog. He has a scar next to his left eye that he got when he was sixteen. He had gotten into a fight and someone stabbed him in the face with a screwdriver. His nose is crooked, his front tooth is chipped, and when he smiles the left side of his cheek goes further than the right. Even though he has had minor facial rearrangements, girls are very much attracted to him. It might be the way he carries himself. He knows he’s a gangster and he doesn’t care who knows it.

Even though he belongs to a gang, it has never affected his studies. He has never been to jail, even though he deserved to go, and has always taken care of business outside of school. He’s just graduated high school with a 3.4 G.P.A. After graduating he got a job and put off college for a year even though he was anxious to start at UC Berkeley.

He gets out of the shower, brushes his teeth, gets dressed, and heads out of his two bedroom apartment which he pays for by himself. He closes his door and looks over at his driveway. He takes a minute to decide whether he will take his 1969 Impala or his 1996 Honda Civic to work. It’s no competition, he can never resist the old school. He gets in and turns the key, the engine roars, VROOM. He puts it on reverse and pulls out. Even though it’s still early, he puts his music on at full volume. He loves this car to death. He can’t imagine what he would do if he were to crash his car, especially after the amount of time and money he has put into it. He personally had to fix more than a couple of things under the hood, had to save up for three months to get the red candy paint, and he had to steal some rims for the all around perfect look.

He hits a left and finally arrives at work. He really likes his job. He works at a factory supervising people who bind notebooks. He hardly gets his hands dirty and the days are short. After work is over, he heads to the hood to see what’s going on. Before he gets to the block he stops by the liquor store to buy a 40 (oz.) of Mickey’s Malt Liquor. He goes to the block, and sees a lot of guys conversing on the corner. He parks his car and walks over towards his homeboys.

“What’s up wit yall?” Jose asks.

“Man…. These scraps came out here and beat up one of the lil’ homies,” one of the guys says.

There are about fifteen people at the corner, all with angry expressions on their faces.

“And where’s the lil’ homie at?”

“He went to his house to get his thang.”

Jose notices that mostly everyone was wearing black and had jackets or hoodies on. To anyone else, it would seem like they were just cold but Jose already knows what’s up.

“Y’all got something on y’all?” Jose asks.

“Five guns, a couple of bats, a couple of crowbars, and some shanks,” another face in the crowd speaks out.

“Y’all want me to go get the ‘Dirty Harry’?” Jose asks.

“The more the merrier,” another one said.

He took another look at the group. Their faces seemed to get darker by the second.

“A’ight, I’ll be back.” He doesn’t really want to leave. He has a weird ache at the pit of his stomach. He thinks something might happen while he goes to go get his gun. He hesitates but he would feel more secure if he was holding onto some cold steel. Eventually, he gets into his car and goes home.

Upon arrival, he looks around to see if he might have been followed. The coast is clear. He walks in his house, walks into his room, goes to his dresser, pulls out the bottom drawer, gets the hidden .44 Magnum Smith and Wesson, and tucks it in his waist. It looks exactly like the gun from the movie Dirty Harry because of it’s long nose. He gets in his car and goes back to the block.

He’s a block away and hears a couple of gunshots. He stomps on the gas pedal and speeds down the block. He can see everyone getting into their cars. He pulls over next to the last one. The older homie, Big Tiny, was in the car with the younger homie Cyclone.

“What happened?”

“Three car loads just came out here-n-started buckin’ at us, so we busted back,” Big Tiny replied.

“I recognized that bitch ass muthafucka Lil’ Man from 53^rd ,” Cyclone said as a little bit of spit came out of his mouth.

“C’mon, follow us. We’re bout to go down there.”

Jose said nothing, he just nodded. He followed five other cars, and headed south. Thank god nobody got hit. He was thankful, but felt guilty.

“Hi Juan,”

“Hey Jose.”

“You wanna come to my birthday party tomorrow?”

“How old you gonna be?”

“Six,”

“Yea I’ll come.”

“Okay,” Little Jose walks across the street back to his house. That’s how it started. An innocent friendship. After that birth day party Juan came around more. They played day and night, and were always together.

They traveled for about a mile. They finally got to the corner 53^rd and the first car saw some scraps rendezvousing halfway down the block. There were about fourteen of them. Fish in a barrel. He turned on his hazard lights to signal that they were there.

Jose turns off his lights and waits at the corner while everyone else sped down the block. Shots let out. Everybody dropped to the floor. Some dropped because they got shot, others dropped to try to dodge the hail of bullets. He waited for about twenty seconds until all of the bullets stopped. He saw all of his friends hit the corner they flew down the street. It seemed like their wheels weren’t even touching the concrete. Like birds flying back to their nest.

Everybody who was getting shot at waited ‘til the coast was clear. They started by lifting their heads to look around, then lifting themselves up little by little. Half of them didn’t even get up. The ones who were fine or barely injured rushed to the aid of those who didn’t get up. Some tended to the seriously injured-there were three, and others tried to resuscitate the lifeless bodies-there were four, but mostly all started to cry.

He got out of the car and ran towards everybody. He pulled out his pistol and aimed at the guy who just happened to notice him. BOOM-He shot him in the head, his neck jerked back and he fell to the ground. Everybody who was able to run, started to run. He took aim and let two more go-BOOM BOOM-they both hit one of the runners in the back. Two red holes started to leak blood as he was falling, his body seemed to float in the air for a couple of seconds before it flopped against the pavement like a pancake. He let another shot go before they got too far-BOOM-it hit one of the runners in the back of his head. The force from the bullet made him fall forward. It looked like he attempted to do a front flip but failed halfway and hit the ground face first, his face skidded on the sidewalk for three feet before the rest of his body hit the ground. He had two more shots. He would have been likely to miss if he tried to shoot more of the runners. He looked over at the floor. Three people tried to drag themselves away. He walked over to the fastest one, and stood over him. Jose cocked the hammer back and gazed into the scraps eyes. The injured man looked up at the merciless warrior towering over him.

“Please don’t shoo-”

BOOM-a bullet pierced the top of his head. Blood splattered on the concrete and Jose’s shoes. He had one more bullet left, but instead of using it he decided to save it in case someone followed him. He also wants to spare the lives of the two other injured guys-if they made it-to tell the story, since they had front row seats.

He runs to his car and flees the scene. He doesn’t go north with the other birds, he heads deeper south. He wants to make sure he gets to the coop. He wants to take a route where there won’t be any police. The railroad tracks. He remembered that on a normal day the police is always around there, but with the incident that just took place the whole force will be by 53^rd.

He gets to the tracks and follows along them northbound. He’s glad to know that they’ve taken out a good number of enemies tonight.

Is there somebody following me? he wonders as he notices that some headlights have been behind him possibly since he left the scene of the crime. He’s paranoid. Nah, it’s nobody. I’m just trippin’. His eyes wander from the road to the rearview. The two headlights hypnotize him. He falls deep into the gaze of these two bright eyes on the rearview. The lights calling out to him, “Slow Down.” The unwanted call of a stranger, enemy, officer, or even an angel. I’m not going’ to jail tonight, and I’m damn sure not about to die. The headlights turn off. Shit! It was a distraction. CRASH! It sounded like someone exploded a bomb inside a glass house. A car runs into the passenger’s side of his beloved Impala at full speed. Metal twisting and bending. The force pushed the Impala off the road, into the gravel, and onto the tracks. The car twists, turns, and rolls as it makes its way onto the tracks.

Jose looks around. Am I trippin’, he asks himself. The sky is where the floor should be and the rail road tracks are in the sky. He didn’t know what hit him. The cell phone in his pocket starts to ring. He comes back to reality. He looks around and there’s a car that’s overturned about ten feet away from him, another car arrives and parks by the overturned vehicle. The door opens and a man steps out.

He reaches over his lap and takes off his seat belt. He falls up onto the roof of the car. He starts to crawl out the window but remembers the remaining bullet in his gun. He reaches up, under his car seat, and grabs the only thing that can save his life. He gets out and stands. Sirens. They’re barely getting to the spot where it all started. I still have some time. He starts walking towards the road.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re goin’?” asks a voice by the two cars.

Jose turns to look at the faceless voice. It’s Lil Man. And he’s hurt. Could he be the one that ran into me? Jose walks over towards the two men standing by their cars. He points the gun at them. Lil Man and “The Diversion” are too proud to run. Jose signals them to move with his gun. They comply. He tries to think up a plan to get rid of them both with only one bullet. As soon as they reach the tracks he makes them stop.

Jose feels the ground rumble. The train is coming. Jose knows he has to act quick. Eenie, Meenie, Miney, Moe. BOOM. He shoots the uninjured man between his eyes. Blood splatters on the left side of Lil Man’s face and the man falls.

“Hurry up. Do it quick,” says Lil Man wanting a quick and painless death.

Jose cocks the hammer back and looks into Lil Man’s eyes.

Jose’s parents took him to dinner on his birthday when he turned sixteen. He had been to this restaurant before so he knew it would be a while before he got his food. He excused himself from the table saying he had to use the restroom, but instead he snuck out to the front of the restaurant to smoke a Newport. Once outside, he put the cigarette to his lips, struck a match, lit the Port, and inhaled the menthol smoke he had been craving. He looks up and sees three guys approaching him.

“Where you from, homie?” asks a face that seems kind of familiar.

“Juan?” Jose asks.

“Yeah, who are you?”

“Don’t you remember me?”

“Umm-”

“It’s Jose from 83^rd street.”

“Oh yeah, what you been up to?”

“Shit, puttin’ it down for Eight-Tray Gangsta Nortenos.”

“Yeah?”

“Yup.”

“Damn, that’s koo. They call me Lil Man now-n-I’m from 53^rd street Southern Lunatics.”

When he finished saying what he had to say he punched Jose out of nowhere and kept hitting him while his friends jumped in. Jose fell to the ground and kept getting stomped until a waiter came out of the restaurant.

“I’m calling the police,” said the waiter.

The three guys ran off.

“Are you okay?”

“Yea,” Jose said as the waiter helped him up.

“You want me to call the police?”

“Naw, I’m aright,” said Jose. He remembered that he and Lil Man grew up together. They were inseparable up until Lil Man moved out of the neighborhood when they were in the 6^th grade. Jose felt sick to his stomach. He wanted revenge.

“You wanna die quick?” Jose asks Lil Man.

He does not answer.

“Too bad, I don’t got no more bullets.” BAM, BAM, BAM, BAM. Jose pistol whips him in his face four times.

He swings the gun at Lil Man one more time, but Lil Man ducks out of the way and grapples Jose to the ground. They wrestle on the ground, fighting for control. Jose pushes Lil Man off and gets on top. He’s in control. He pounds Lil Man’s head into the ground with the gun. Lil Man picks up a rock and bangs it across the side of Jose’s face. Jose falls over. They both get up. They go head to head. Joes rushes him and punches him in the nose. The train is getting closer. Jose grabs him by the hair and pulls him to his knee. The train is 30 yards away. Lil Man releases himself and hits Jose in his jaw. 22 yards away. Jose dodges the next punch as he ducks and comes at Lil Man with the hardest uppercut in the world. 15 yards away. Lil Mans head jerked back and he fell foreward. 10 yards away. Lil Man grab on Jose and tries to push him away from the train. 7 yards away. Jose gives him a hard push and flings him across the train.

Lil Man’s body almost makes it across the train tracks, but is hit by the train. The power of the train pushed Lil Man’s body five feet ahead of the train and hit is again. The body fell under the train and got ran over by all of the wheels on the right hand side. When the train finished passing, Jose saw blood on the tracks for about 63 yards. Lil Man’s arm was 20 feet away, and his head was a couple feet further. His body was taken by the train. As a bribe, a bribe for the train not to stop until it reached it’s destination.

Jose felt like he was going to throw up. He started to walk off but he remembered his car. He sees a puddle of gas by his car and set it on fire. It hurt to see his car up in flames. He sets Lil Man’s car on fire also, and leaves in “The Decoy’s” car. He is scared. He doesn’t know what to do. He drives and drives. He drives until the car runs out of gas. He calls Big Tiny, tells him to pick him up and hangs up. He sits in the car thinking about what happened and he starts to cry. He looks up and sees sirens. He puts the gun to his head and pulls the trigger. CLICK. There was no bullet. The siren was for a black Mercedes. He remembered he used his last bullet on Lil Man’s friend. He was glad. He would have ended his life for no reason. He wipes his tears, starts a small fire that will grow as he laves the area, and walks away.

Jose looks over his shoulder as he walks. He is afraid. He doesn’t want to return to the hood. He wants to go home. He doesn’t ant to go to jail. He regrets what he did. He doesn’t want all of the effort he put into school to be for nothing. He knows he has to make a choice, but he doesn’t know what that choice is.