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Consequnences of being in a gang
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The negative effects of gang violence
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Liam Fort Ms. Sanchez Honors English 1, Period 2 19 September 2016 The Rancor of Humanity My name is Robert Martin, and I only have one thing to say: it wasn’t me. Sure, I usually had to fire a couple of shots at the people in the banks to get them to keep quiet, however it was Reynold who was the real beast, both during our heists and after them. When the cops showed up that one day, Reynold figured that he was better off a fugitive. I had creased out the part of my memory that told me he was a cold-blooded barbarian who had killed before and would gleefully kill once more. As I stood at the door to the bank, acting as a guard, I felt a sudden rush against my side. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground, and a cop was on top of me, holding …show more content…
I told him my agreement with his decision and he offered to take me with him. I instantly accepted his offer and he filled me in on the details. When we would get back into our cells, he would attempt to overpower one of the guards with his knife and take the guard’s keys. He would then come to my cell and free me, and we would exit through a window in the main cell block as the other prisoners slept. Alas, we chose to have this conversation in public. That night, I awaited Roswell’s arrival and lay awake in my bed, listening for any sound of his appearance. After several hours, I heard someone arriving in front of the cell, and the door began to rattle. I looked up at the door only to see a guard coming straight at me with his fists. Once again, the world enveloped itself in a coat of black as I went unconscious. I awoke strapped down in a chair. A low humming emerged from above me. As I blinked and cleared my eyes, I knew what my fate had brought. I was in a compact room with a narrow spectating room on one side. Across from this room stood a priest in the corner, who was murmuring to a guard. The priest noticed that I was awake and exited the room, giving me one last look of clemency. The guard came over to me, smiling, and began to speak in a sarcastic lilt. “Guess what, sweetheart? Your expiration date got moved up, and magically that happens to be today! That’s what happens to people who try to outsmart the system! Any last
I asked Inmate Dennis if anything happened in the hallway on the way to intake and he stated, “No. They just kept pulling me. I was walking but they kept trying to make me look cracked out and that I was fighting. I don’t know why they were doing that. And then they threw me in the cell.” I asked Inmate Dennis if he said anything to the detention officers as they were walking down the hall and he said, “The only thing I asked was ‘why the fuck you grab me for?’”
... work. It definitely puts things into perspective when you hear about what it must be like to live in a correctional facility. He told me that a lot of guys are brought in on five to ten year sentences and join a gang or something for protection, but end up getting themselves in trouble and adding years onto their sentence.
After opening the front door all fell silent. The reality of where I was about to go washed over me, and I would be lying if I said I wasn't absolutely terrified. You couldn't only see, but feel, the demeanor of the “veterans” change as well. After a loud buzz the first cold, heavy door unlocked so we could begin our journey to the community room where the girls were waiting for us. As we approached every new door down the countless hallways the cameras were watching us and we’d hear a “buzz”. We finally reached the last door, took a deep breath and heard
small bodies and Sgt. Melvin E. Brown, who told his family that he had helped transport the bodies to a hanger in Roswell. The bodies were most often described as “smaller than human”(Dudley 35) with “large heads and eyes”(Dudley 36)
to some people who had gotten out of prison a few weeks prior to our talk, and
During my interview, I had asked a basic question that asked what your perspective on the jail is. The response I had received seemed deeply thought full and he responded with
...ple. Before this experience, I do not think I could have ever said I respected a convicted burglar or any criminal. These were humans who made incredibly bad decisions, but that does not mean they do not deserve a second chance if they are willing to change, some aren’t, but I emphasized for the prisoners who were. Prison is a lot of their second chances. “I am lucky to still be alive, if I were not here (in prison), I most likely wouldn’t be alive,” exclaimed one prisoner. This experience allowed me to be thankful for the life I was given, the home I grew up in, and how my parents raised me. I cannot say I would not walk into a prison frightened and with preconceived thoughts again because I would be lying. I have been taught by society to be scared of these people, but I am thankful I can say I did meet kind, remorseful prisoners waiting for their second chance.
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
I was searching for the lost football as a blue Mustang came up. I knew they were Socs. There were four of them. I attempted to make a run for it but it was too late. One of the Socs snatched my arm. He had three big rings on his hand and he beat me up like a punching bag. I was half-dead until they let me go. I crawled into the shadows of the alleys and laid there, motionless in a puddle of blood. I gasped for air. Moments later, I heard a familiar voice,
We were all with him. He wasn’t going to do this alone. It was more of a mental fight between us. He tried to seem bigger and stronger, but I simply imitated him, to prove that I as well am big and strong. Then one of the men grabbed me by the collar, and said that he was going to send us home.
Many girls of different ages fantasize about the perfect wedding, perfect husband, a gorgeous dress, and the happiness to come after the wedding. At one point I was just like these girls. I saw marriage as a paradise that everybody should experience. Around tenth- grade, my rose tinted glasses were removed and I witnessed just how bad a marriage could get to the point of divorce. The divorce my parents went through, changed my entire view on monogamy. I now see marriage in a more realistic point of view and that it is not an easy journey as I once had thought it was.
All the sudden they started running in all directions. I saw a tank, it said USA. I cried in laughter. I waved my hands, and they waved back. I ran down there and hugged everyone. I went back to the camp, and they said I was relieved of my duty. I was going home. When I got there everything changed. My wife divorced me, and was seeing other people. I was depressed, and I had PTSD(Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). I was homeless, and shaky. I would go up to people to clobber them. My reason was because I felt like it. I was marked as a mental retard. Two weeks later I was institutionalized. I was in extreme care. I had no visitors, besides the inmates who spit on me. It was early morning Wednesday, and the guards said “Wake up you rat you have a visitor”. I gasped when I saw it was her. She was crying. I told her how she was a traitor, and she should be arrested for cheating. When the police beat me up with a nightstick. When they were done I saw her cry so I said “don’t cry”, but she said “damn you”. The next day I was freed from jail. The first thing I did was I bought a 1942 Ford Coupe, and drove all the way to Nevada. Then I bought a house with a gun safe. The next thing I bought was a 7 mag with some
Forty-five minutes ago my cover was blown. I’ve been hiding out in London as a banker; there have been numerous reporting’s of some not so friendly characters snooping around the London Eye. Every day at 1p.m. they would walk into the South Street Band and then leave. Five minutes later they would walk in again, then leave. So my boss hooked be up with a job as a teller to report back my findings, but lately things around here got overly intense. Well if I am going to tell you this right I should start at the beginning. Let’s say three days ago.
When I was asked by my mother what I wanted to do for my 15th birthday the first thing that popped into my head was roller coasters. This idea has been in my head ever since I heard one of my best friends talking about how she was tired of going to a 15's dinner or event. So I got to thinking about what would be enjoyable for me and my 3 best friends. Then the idea hits roller coasters. I rode one of my first roller coasters in school with my 3 best friends. Whenever there was a carnival in town and they had a cool roller coaster, we would all go together on it. It was one of our few traditions that stuck. So now I had to choose the where. We actually had all went to Disney world about a year ago, and one of my best friends, Alex, hated it. So
There are more details to the story that I have not covered but since we only have so many words to write about this, I am having to leave a