Madness

00

00| This is My Normal.

It was a cold night here in Chicago. I would say it's a pretty busy city. Especially where I live, there is always something going on.

Here's the thing, I don't live in the prettiest neighbourhood around and sometimes things get really ugly here and they stay ugly.

I digress though, I'm only a fourteen year old bookworm who lives on the rustier side of the tracks.

I live with only my mother, but even then I barely see her. Mom works a lot of dead-end minimum wage jobs to support us, even in the slump that we live in.

She wasn't always this hard working and driven. I remember a time when she was with her boyfriend and all she did was get high up on drugs.

He was a bad man. To her...and to me.

But that is a story for another time.

Either way, I love my home, though I could do without all the horrible and violent shit that goes down here.

Don't get me wrong, I love my community and neighbourhood. Sure, most people here get involved with the wrong shit, but once you get to know them they aren't that bad.

In no way is this me condoning inner-city gang violence or some shit like that, but it's just me saying that from the outside looking in, things seem miserable.

On the inside, it's just a bunch of people losing trust in the system. Maybe most fourteen year old girls shouldn't be having these kinds of reality checks. Maybe I should be learning to stay off my phone or learning that freshman boys ain't shit.

Clearly this isn't the case. I had to grow up fast, mentally.

I still look like a fourteen year old.

I think.

Whatever I'm getting off track.

I've had to learn certain...methods of living in order to protect myself. Things that most fourteen year olds shouldn't have to learn, but in my part of town if you don't know you'll end up dead.

I was currently waiting for my mother in the living area of our small, run-down two bedroom apartment.

Beside me was the landline with 911 on speed dial and in my hand was a small kitchen knife that I sharpened half an hour ago.

Protection.

One time someone followed mom home and attacked pulled a gun on us and asked us for all the money we had on hand.

I mean it was only 10 fucking dollars at the time but that seemed to be enough for that motherfucker.

I still have trouble sleeping at night, because of it. My heart rate speeds up and it becomes harder to breath.

Doesn't help that I have fucking asthma.

But tonight there was something off. Mom was supposed to be home ten minutes ago, and she is still not here. It was eerily quiet and I didn't like it.

Suddenly there was a knock on my door. It wasn't threatening but knowing that did nothing for the racing beat of my heart.

My mind was frozen.

Fight or flight. Do I just ignore it or go see?

Ah fuck it.

Slowly I walked to the door, and looked through the peephole.

It was my neighbour, Bugsy.

He was a puerto rican guy who owned a corner store at the end of our block. He sometimes gave me free popsicles in the summer because of how hot it gets because our building doesn't have any A.C system.