I'm not a badman, I am Jourdyn Goodman.
It was late at night, four young females, patrolled the streets of London. The sky was pitch black, not a soul was seen during this time of the month on the cold streets of London. "There she is!" one of the females hissed pointing towards a young adult. The purple silky dress revealed her light skin being pierced by the sharp November wind. Bruises on her flesh where revealed on her thighs. She was known as the local 'football pitch', the loose girl. The girl recognised as the slag because she became a mother at the age of 15, yet noone knew she got raped at the age of 13. She took the path leading into the alleyway. Life for her was unberable, drugs where her answer to relief. The four females followed behind her, with one of them further infront. The one infront buckled her up gripping her up onto the wall. She kicked her in her stomach, leading her to cough out the remains of her silent internal pain. She repeated her actions, leaving her on the floor with ounces of blood flowing out of her mouth.
"Next time you dumb teef, you want sum weed you know to give me my money, I don't go around chasing people.Yu hear me? Wah di bomba rass do you take me for?"
She spat in her face, looking at her with disgust, walking away from her. The three other females followed her leaving her on the stone-cold concrete floor. They made their way back to the streets. It was during the hours of 23:00, a group of 15-19 year-olds stood hanging around infront of a house. A few were on their bikes inhaling and exhaling marijuana from their mouths. As the four females walked towards them, they stopped.