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America's Worst Nightmare

How One Day Changed it All -part one

By Arthur WaltonPublished 3 years ago 9 min read
6
when your only option is no option

Would like to take you on a journey through a pivotal part of my life, to a time when doing dirt was mandatory in order to earn your stripes. All while accepting there is a great chance that your freedom won't last, days from long ago yet not forgotten from the distant past. When a Judge felt it necessary to explain his thoughts to make it crystal clear, if I stay this course I'm on by 18 I will be incarcerated serving years. That is IF and ONLY IF not already gone, dead, and buried 6 feet down, and to add insult to injury, he did this in front of a jam packed court house. Barely a teenager, just 13 at this junction when he decided to let it go and unload, his thoughts, feelings, and beliefs with his this is your life choices speech, a dog and pony show. Yet on deaf ears his sermon fell harmlessly without hearing a single syllable that exited his mouth, as stubborn and unreachable I was plus his preaching made me completely tune him out. Had no interest in listening to any of it let alone walk anyone's fine line, my priorities were set for me on that money making hustle of a grind. While putting on for my set I represent by flagging and stacking gang signs, willing to do whatever needed to ensure survival consuming the majority of my mind.

But first allow me to peel some layers off and take you back behind the scenes, to help explain how my situation evolved to the point of being in a court room for me. So let's roll on together flying down the highway we like to call memory lane, give chance to learn bout when I personally found out the meaning of heartache and pain. Was in the 8th grade as life wasn't perfect but for us we was doing just fine, until the day God decided to seemingly freeze the hands of time. While simultaneously giving a blunt lesson on how painful life can truly be, the Summer of 93' an Angel, my Grandma left us as he chose to take away the rock of our Family. Burying her was much more difficult than I could have possibly imagined, I asked God myself how he could begin to fathom even allowing this to happen. As a result I knew then that things neither could nor would ever again be the same, especially with all the painful and torturous memories lasered into my Mother's brain. Blend in on top of that my legal father was a raging alcoholic, who with one drop of liquor seemingly would turn crazy and psychotic. Morphing from unassuming and quiet to loud, belligerent, and extremely violent, not only beating on Mom behind closed doors but a master being able to hide it. Then one day Mom finally decided enough was enough, this was all just too much, fed up to the fullest done with it all and I know making that decision was extremely tough.

She went and got a U-haul truck we filled to the gills with our stuff, then proceeded to leave the abusive prick and our painful memories behind us in the dust. Off we went like we was on a new adventure away in a new city and state, with no talk or discussion as to what was going down and certainly no argument or debate. Just simply a pack all your belongings, help get things ready, and please just do your part, and we will plant our roots down to begin with a fresh start. Over 500+ miles up the interstate we rode all day and most the night, nonstop driving except to fill up the gas tank or to grab us a bite.

With Family intact, with spirits lifted by hopes of what the future may hold, then we entered upon Amish Country on the county outskirts of our new Home Sweet Home. Now keep in mind Mom had lived in this region of the states once before, back round the time I was getting ready to enter the world and be born. However the nice wholesome town Mom recalled from her past was no more, leaving a lasting mental effect on Mom that made her more emotionally torn. Though it was easy to see how this pristine area of forests and mountains was once upon a time, the type of place you visit then want to move to, leaving everything else behind. Now it was overrun by drugs, violence, and crime fueled by the abundance of street gangs, was quite obvious before making it to town how much life would have to change. Stopped at a Turkey Hill store and the clerk gave us a thorough rundown of exactly who is who, such as what parts of town are ran by red and which parts are blue. Not talking political parties either instead speaking on the gangs with the most juice, what colors were safe to wear and where or places to avoid as well as things being a no go to do. Also detailed the most dangerous sections or wards within the town, then you learn the worst place he spoke of, the 7th ward, is where our home is found.

To say there was a learning curve would be the most enormous understatement of the century, it didn't take long at all to find out just how different this place would be. In the first 48hrs only way to put it would be I got laid out on the ground, straight up blind sided by a grown man and beat down. Wake up in a hospital bed with a blowout concussion in my left eye, not from anything I had done other than being born with my skin color white. Such a mind blowing experience for one so young to endure and try to comprehend, how do I increase my survival chances in this concrete jungle I find myself in. Feeling like a Foreigner as if we had moved to another world or planet, life had completely flipped upside down and I struggled to understand it. For instance, what color , type of shoes, or clothing brand I picked out and wore, had way more meaning than just matching my clothes to look good at school anymore. Colors you wore could be a life or death situation depending on where you was at, wrong place at the wrong time could leave you killed on the spot with ones gat. Can lead to scary erratic paranoia, always looking over your shoulder with each and every step, with the only answer you believe is left to your problems is which gang you want to rep. So before the first week in town was finished once more I was on the bad end of an assault, only this time around is was all on me and my choice, 100% my fault. This one came with benefits attached to it such as no need to walk in fear, so I took my beat in for the gang I chose to watch my back with assassins always near. With my safety under control and respect earned, two things money can't afford, mixed in with the brotherhood I yearned for helped lead me into the hands of the Vice Lords.

Now lets speak on school, which couldn't been more different than anything I'd read or ever known, unlike the tv shows I seen or comparable to nothing been told or shown. Had metal detectors to walk thru as well as armed security patting you down just to get in the front door, still violence ensued almost daily with caches of weapons hidden within classes plus abundance of drugs galore. It didn't take long to integrate myself in at Edward Hand Junior High, rather nice accomplishment since out of the entire student body only I was white. Was located roughly 8 blocks away to walk to school from home, but with rival turfs had to navigate thru just like an active war zone. Never leave home without packing the chrome, with the metal detectors in use a glock 9 was my pick to pack n own. Need eyes in the back of your head for any enemies out looking for blood trying to make a name, at the expense of the only pale skinned member ever initiated into this set of my gang. Being the minority also made me a commodity of sorts when on the block, a high value target for anyone with the fortitude to try and stop. Meant that anytime I went out in public could be in anyone's sights, its no wonder I always had an overwhelming sense of impending doom and fright. Knowing that your next step or corner you come around could come a hit, not wanting to hear the click of the deadly gun spark that could leave your wig split.

Now every action has a reaction and your reasoning makes no difference, in the street life this means more often than not some life altering consequences. Which leads us back full circle to the reasons and the facts, of me being randomly searched and caught red handed with my strap. Had it concealed away in my backpack but is what leads me in front of the Judge, was took that day to school to be used in taking care of a grudge. Not my beef but my boys so in the end it really didn't matter, for the set that I bang would have happily left your cerebellum splattered. When given an order you take care of business without any hesitation, always loyal to the gang first regardless with no second guessing. No talking to the jakes or else your life would be forfeit, show no weakness or fear and live life to the fullest with no regret. Do not ever get caught slipping since there is no reset or on and off switch, no extra chances, one mistake and you may no longer exist. The life expectancy of a real banger doing dirt in the hood with the crew, may be 16-20yrs old yet most don't even make it to high school. But the real fate most from this lifestyle come to meet in the end, is either dead in a casket or down the road doing a prison bid. Brotherly love overriding oppression and destruction of society conveys my mind set, that I possessed walking into court that day not knowing what to expect. The Honorable Judge described me as a killer virus liable to spread like a plague, he refused to allow that so with me an example was made. He was knowledgeable far as gangs and the cancer they can turn into he was also fully aware, as he announced that in his humble opinion I was equivalent to America's Worst Nightmare.

Teenage years
6

About the Creator

Arthur Walton

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  • Arthur William2 years ago

    Coul feel the emotions thru the paper great job keep up the good work, need more like you in the world

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