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The effects of homelessness
The effects of homelessness
How homelessness affects youth
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I stumbled downstairs and dragged my feet along the dirty, cracked hallway floor. Another day in this pathetic excuse of a city. Yelling and loud thumps resonated through the building from the apartments above. I adjusted my winter coat and mentally prepared myself for the hellish crime ridden streets of Brooklyn. I tugged on the door handle again, the stupid thing was still stuck. Rubbing my hands together for alittle warmth I got a good grip on the handle and leaned back, putting all of my weight into one final heave. The rusty hinges snapped loose and the heavy door flung open, smashing me in the face. Blood poured from my face like a faulty water fountain.
While I was lying on the floor, writhing in pain, an itchy sack was pulled over
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Bruce swivelled back around and grinned at me as he quickly slipped a small package into my coat pocket then punched me again to cover it up. A small boy, about the age of 10 poked his head in through the door, "Your presence is requested at the front desk Master Bruce." and slipped back through the crack.
"Very well then, I must be going." Bruce glanced over at the guards and in a menacing tone grumbled "And don't you let this one out of your sight!"
Bruce winked at me as he stepped through the door and shimmied it closed behind him. With the disappearence of Bruce the two guards immediately let loose and went back to the conversation they'd been having before they were so rudely interrupted. The duct tape restricting my arms snapped. I rested my sore shoulders while I thought about my escape plan. The two guards only occasionally turned in my direction to check on me, leaving a 2 minute window in between each movement. I quickly snatched the package from my pocket and fumbled with it trying to get it open. I cringed at the loud tearing sound the paper made, but still the guards didn't notice. Inside was a small box with a syringe symbol on it. I started to worry that the guards would catch me while I scratched at the brass latches. The contents of the box were strange, 2 small vials of fluro green liquid and a gun about the size of my palm. The two vials perfectly fit inside the chamber of the gun. The guards conversation went silent as they leaned over to check on me, faster than the speed of light I stuffed my hands back behind my back and pretended to be
My feet planted firm on the ground as I bit the inside of my cheeks to feel something. My pigtails and gray uniform forgotten along with my surroundings as I just watched death do his work. I didn’t feel like a kid anymore. The once peaceful scene turned into a mass of chaotic moments as soon as metal clashed on metal, and the remains of glass littered the floor of the street in front of the fenced gates of my school. My peers screamed loudly but the sound of the crash replayed in my head, but worst of all is that I saw the blond hair of the woman cover her face like a veil tainted red. My teacher ushered us to wait inside yet my mind was numb and my thoughts blurred as I heard the cries of the adults.
I slipped into the camp with cat-like stealth. Guards sporadically dotted the area, glancing and glaring at the land around them. I came behind a few guards that stood vigil, in front of the tent that held my target, and stealthily cut off their oxygen supply ending in unconsciousness. I surveyed the area, checking for any witnesses. After making sure the coast was clear, I entered the tent, pulling out the syringe.
I push myself off of the wall when the agony in my leg slaps me across the cheek with the force of a runaway freight train. Looking down, I realize that the handsome man’s blade still cheerfully roosts just millimeters to the right of my sternum. Silly collector, I think to myself as I carelessly draw out the flayed cobalt sheet from my torso, spewing clot and gore onto my hands. The heart is on the LEFT side. I giggle blissfully as I lick my viscera off of the blade. I turn towards my front door and see the other collector staring at me in lamented horror, unsure of whether to finish me off with the assault rifle she held in her shaking hands or to simply run away. “Oh, sorry, did you want some?” I inquire as I hold out the blade towards her. She fixes her gaze on the blade, then back to my face. “N-N…” she attempts, but resorts to just shaking her head. “More for me, then!” I state as I feebly limp past her and out of my destroyed room. I head for the elevator and bulldoze the “up” button with my fist. When the corrugated iron doors lazily shriek apart, an elderly woman and her husband look up at my face, then down to my wounds as I board the trembling
“Hey short stack! Come over here,” yelled Bruce, the biggest ruffian in school. “Oh, too scared! What a wimp.”
Clark: It’s like this, Bruce. Sooner or later, somebody’s going to order me to bring you in. Somebody with authority.
You would think that when I decided what to do with the rest of my life, it would be some profound moment when something huge took place. Nothing dangerous or crazy happened, but my heart was changed. Suddenly, everything made sense to me and I knew what journey I was going to take and why I was going to take it. The funny thing about all of this is, it was one kindergartner who opened my eyes. One five year-old who showed me what I’m destined to do for the rest of my life.
It’s 3:20 am. on a Friday morning, and pitch black out. The only things visible are the tree branches and pavement shining from yellow streetlights that carve out a path from the parking lot to the back door of my building. Living on campus at Towson I should’ve owned mace, but I clutched my car key instead, pointed outward ready to stab the eye of anyone deciding to come out of the dark after me. The brisk walk up the hill seems to take half an hour. Finally under the bright lights of the overhang I swipe my card quickly to get inside. The door bolt locks behind me with a loud click. I’m safe.
All of a sudden the floorboards cracked and the man chasing me had fallen through the floor. When I looked down all I saw was darkness, but that was when the lights in the hallway came on and the man had been impaled on one of the shattered floorboards. Only then had I realised that this entire time I had tears rolling down my face and I suddenly felt awfully sick in the stomach and my body felt saw. I needed to leave, I headed towards the staircase to make my way down, but as I did this, the front door slammed shut. A large man holding a butcher’s knife in both hands stood before me and the front door. They started walking up the stairs, I tried to move but I was stuck in a state of shock. When they reached me they raised the butcher’s knife to my throat and whispered in my ear “Tell anyone about this place and we’ll make money out of your body too”. I gulped, and tried to respond but I was frozen in fear. They walked past me, and once I had regained myself, I left through the front door. When I got home I took the bag off of my back and had a cigarette to recollect myself and started planning for when I would burn down the
Soon the authorities arrived. They inspected, poked, and snooped, and filed me into an evidence bag. It was constricting, uncomfortable, and confining. The police continued to search the building while they drove me away to a lab.
He reached into his leather jacket and withdrew his rusty scalpel, stroking it with his finger lovingly. "You see this? If you don't do as I say, you can kiss your little friends goodbye."
Scared and baffled I witnessed two armed guards burst in with a pair of keys. They very quickly opened the
Once upon a time, I saw the world like I thought everyone should see it, the way I thought the world should be. I saw a place where there were endless trials, where you could try again and again, to do the things that you really meant to do. But it was Jeffy that changed all of that for me. If you break a pencil in half, no matter how much tape you try to put on it, it'll never be the same pencil again. Second chances were always second chances. No matter what you did the next time, the first time would always be there, and you could never erase that. There were so many pencils that I never meant to break, so many things I wish I had never said, wish I had never done. Most of them were small, little things, things that you could try to glue back together, and that would be good enough. Some of them were different though, when you broke the pencil, the lead inside it fell out, and broke too, so that no matter which way you tried to arrange it, they would never fit together and become whole again. Jeff would have thought so too. For he was the one that made me see what the world really was. He made the world into a fairy tale, but only where your happy endings were what you had to make, what you had to become to write the words, happily ever after. But ever since I was three, I remember wishing I knew what the real story was.
There's No Place Like Home- Personal Narrative. Other than the sweltering heat of the summer in Oklahoma City, the only dilemma is tornadoes. I grew up in the middle of this “tornado alley” and eventually developed a sixth sense for detecting tornadic activity. Even in the 1980’s, tornadoes were known for their violent crime wave, vandalizing neighborhoods and kidnapping children and adults.
My stomach retched, my throat dry, had I got myself into this mess? A distant thud echoed across the cold, hard floor, ricocheting into my ear. Someone was coming.
I never really thought about where my life was going. I always believed life took me where I wanted to go, I never thought that I was the one who took myself were I wanted to go. Once I entered high school I changed the way I thought. This is why I chose to go to college. I believe that college will give me the keys to unlock the doors of life. This way I can choose for myself where I go instead of someone choosing for me.