It’s a shame the hood’s an addiction. Anyone could be gangsta here, especially the young, we all know there’s power in numbers but we don't estimate age out here. Michael had been spending his whole life outside his home slanging dope. He had no fear on anything or anyone, but god. He was always committed toward getting street cred for himself. He would do anything to obtain the cred, including hurting people. He didn’t need a reason to hurt them, because he liked it. Since his own father that walked out of his family was very abusive towards them.

  Being nice never made him money, so he had to be the opposite. Even though he had much knowledge and wisdom, he didn’t share it, so there was no one to protect him. If you were raised in a broken home, having poverty constantly hanging over your head, would you not fight the affliction? Whenever he got hungry it meant it was robbery season. He would go out of the hood, to find unfamiliar people and take all they got. Once a store camera caught his face, words were going out in the hood about him. He was no longer using Snapchat or Twitter, that means he was living under the radar and avoiding policemen. His streetcred was adding up due to his actions, and that’s what he wanted.

  Michael was always looking up to the OGs , they were the ones that would run the place and the movements all around the hood. He was always trying to become just like them one day, so he too, could get the same type of respect as them. Being like them would never give him problems, and no one would fight back on him. Michael had a scare on his face from about 2 months back and he had been teased about it ever since. It was a reminder of when it got beaten, but it was from an older so he thought it did not matter to him, until everyone started talking about their fight and how Michael got bodied. He had enough of the talk, so he had to get revenge, this was also a time for him to get recognized from the OGs.

  He then went straight home and pulled out the Adidas blue shoe box out under his bed, it was that time. He grabbed his pistol, a small black 9mm, and tucked it under his shirt on his back, he then wore a black Nike hoodie to hide it. He got on his red dirt bike he kept in the garage if he ever needed to go somewhere far, but this time it was going to be used as a getaway. He went out to a corner where a few of young kids were hanging out and playing. He asked them about the man,

  “Hey, where’s Marvin at, you lot have seen him?”

  “Yea, he’s at the Garrison pub, where they always hang out. What you need him for?”

  “Nothing little man, just gotta talk to him that’s all.”

  He then got back on his bike and went to the public pub where he saw his target. He pulled down his mask he always wore as a beanie just in case there’s no witness to spot him. He got off his bike, stepped up 10 meters away from the door and away from his target and he let 4 shots out with a quickness. He did not see if his target was down, all he did was run to his bike and drifted off full throttle. While he was driving he pulled his mask off and casually drove to his home, put the bike in the garage and covered it with and old blanket.  He then stays home to avoid anyone around, because you never know who could rat you out. Michael then gets a call, but it was not Satan, it was his sister, Shell. She was hysterically crying, with the police sirens in the background.

  “Mum’s been shot at the pub, we were standing at the door and she just fell”

  He hung up the phone, he had one more bullet in his clip, he cocked the gun up, looked up in the sky and shot himself.