STREETS OF LOST DREAMS

         CHAPTER 1: SIX O'CLOCK

                                                                           Branton learned  early that love and poverty don't live in the same house. The street raised him before his father ever could.  Dandora Estate in Nairobi , morning didn't start with birds singing on trees. They started with matatu hooting and conductors shouting like the world was ending. That noise was his alarm , hey Branton it's six o'clock.
By sixteen, he knew how to survive.
By twenty, he knew how to hustle.
But he didn't know how to love. Not until Amor.
The first time he saw her she was standing at the kiosk near the gate arguing about ten shillings like it was a matter of life and death.
She wasn't shouting, she wasn't rude . She was just firm, calm and unshaken. "And when she turned and looked at me - really looked at me , it felt like she could see through the image I had built. Not " Branton the hustlers". Not " the street guy". Just me" .
He didn't talk to her that first day, he just watched her .she counted her coins twice before walking away. She's simple with her ebony skin glowing under the soft light, black braids framing her face like a crown . Her eyes, deep and alluring , pull you in with every glance, speaking volume without a word. Standing at her average height, she carries herself with grace, her beautiful figure effortlessly captivating. "Today she is wearing a blue dress that dance around her as she moves, adding a quiet magic she exudes". No makeup screaming for attention, just quiet confidence . It's impossible to ignore her . "Girls like her don't fall for guys like me". I knew that.
Because guys like me don't bring flowers. We bring problems. Still the next day, I found myself passing that kiosk again hopping to see her again.
I told my self it was coincidence but deep down , I knew the truth . I was already in trouble.

Branton had always lived in the shadows of the streets. From a young age, the crackling sound of tires rolling over cracked asphalt and the faint smell of smoke in the air had been his constant companions. Raised in a neighborhood where loyalty to the gang was more valuable than gold, Branton knew no other life. His father was long gone not dead , alive but don't care and his mother, exhausted by years of struggle, barely had the strength to push him towards anything else. The streets were all he knew.
But deep inside, Branton had a dream—a whisper in the back of his mind that told him he was meant for something more. It wasn't the dangerous world of street thugs or crime-ridden alleys he belonged to; no, he was destined to be more. He wanted to be an artist, a screen play writer, someone who could capture the world not through violence, but through films, and stories on the big screens.

One day, an opportunity arrived. A local art school was offering scholarships to underprivileged youth, and for the first time, Branton saw a glimmer of hope. The thought of leaving behind the noise and chaos of the street gang was both terrifying and exhilarating. But he couldn’t ignore the call of his dream. He made up his mind—he was going to escape.
It wasn’t easy. The gang had always been his family, his brothers, and his lifeline in a cold world. But as the days went by, the temptation to stay was overshadowed by his desire for something greater. With the support of a kind-hearted teacher who believed in him, Branton managed to get a scholarship. 
But just when Branton thought he had finally escaped, a familiar face appeared at the door.Jonte Moneybag  . The leader of the gang. He looked at Branton with eyes that had seen too much, eyes that held promises of power, respect, and a way back to the old life.
“They’re calling for you, Branton. You can’t hide forever.”
The street gang had always been in his blood, their grip on him unshakable. He tried to ignore the pull, to focus on his dream and his future, but the temptation of the familiar life he once had was strong. The gang was calling him back. One job. One last favor. That was all it would take to prove his loyalty.
Branton tried to fight it. He knew that if he went back, he would never be able to escape again. His dreams would be buried, just like his uncle's before him. But Moneybag’s words echoed in his mind, pulling him deeper into the darkness.
“I know you, Branton. You can’t run from this. The streets will always find you.”
He was torn between the life he dreamed of and the life he had known. The decision was brutal, his heart a battleground between two worlds. In the end, the call of the streets was louder. The gang was family. But could he really live the rest of his life knowing that he had given up on everything he ever wanted?
Branton’s hands shook as he picked up the paintbrush for the last time, dipping it into the colors that had once promised a future full of hope. He knew, deep down, that the dream he’d chased would always be just out of reach. The streets had a way of pulling you back in—no matter how far you tried to run.