“Pow, pow, and pow” the gunshots sounded.
I sprinted outside into the dark night .Not a gunmen to be seen a, not a voice to be heard. As I gazed around and glanced up at the solar powered, white street lights I deliberated that this could not be true.
As I trudged back into the two story house with all the TV’s on fox 8 at eight. My mom dashed to me crying exclaiming
“Your uncle has been shot, your uncle has been shot “
I jolted all the way out of my skin and blasted out in a loud cry. I didn’t apprehend what to progress back outside. I strutted into my room and slammed my door.
Plopping on my bed, slithering under my big orange covers with my pillow filled with tears I just penetrated without a shadow of doubt that this could not be true. I tossed and turned as I heard the sirens approach the scene. I examined my foggy window and starred at the two black men taking out the white stretcher then I shut my curtains however before I could take two steps and dry my eyes my mom hurried inside my room with no tears.
I said “What’s your problem, you’re not crying and that’s your one and only brother”
She screamed “that wasn’t your uncle that was a drug dealer shot and killed that once lived across the street.”
I slowly looked up,”oooooooh thank god “with relieve I dictated.