Kyle L. Johnson 2015
Thursday, September 17, 2015
Laying here dozing, the sound of cars riding quickly through the rain.The street lights reflect pie like images off the dampen windows. They remind me of the moon lit oceans at night and the sound of the waves washing up on the shore. Paradise, warmth, safety, peace and nature. For a short while time has stopped and my problems mean absolutely nothing, no struggle, no pain. minutes pass but it seems like hours and then the serenity is broken. I hear shots fired, sirens soon follow. I awaken a little scared a little angry a little sad. (Am I hit!) : head, arms, legs chest, balls.All my parts are still there no blood and no pain.
I walk to the kitchen and take a quick drink of some cheap rum I bought at the corner store the night before. As the stale piss flavored liquid hits my gut. I realize this isn't dreamland anymore. The City, my home and my prison. How did this come to be? I moved to the middle class neighborhood to escape chaos and now it has followed me.
This place once thriving with hard working men and women. Like many industrial cities in the U.S the city I once loved has fallen. Riddled with empty buildings, business and homes. A zoo filled with angry zombie like people zooming from place to place.Driven by the ideals of the freedom of wealth connected like digital robots thru a cell phone or computer. All of them fighting for the same thing a piece of the pie the power and greed. Trying to survive in this trap, a jungle that We The People created so long ago.
The next morning I turned on the local news to see if I could find out any info on the shots that woke me the night before. Hoping to hear that it was minor incident or some kids lighting fireworks (happens quite often). There were a few shootings that night. one of them It turns out involved a fourteen year old Child that had approached a 17 year old boy and told him he wanted his bike.The 17 year year old R.O.T.C student politely refused and was shot at point blank range killing him almost instantly.
WE KNOW NOT WHAT WE HAVE CREATED.
As a writer, survivalist and father of two there is not a day that passes that I don't worry about the future of our children. There are many that believe that in order to correct our mistakes we must wipe the slate clean to make room for the new. If and when Shit Hits The Fan. whether by the hand of gods, nature or humanity itself. My question is our we truly capable of learning from our mistakes in the aftermath? Will our children grandchildren and future generations follow in our destructive ways? It is the opinion of this writer that as well as prepare and protect we must never forget to teach and correct.
Kyle L. Johnson 2015