Cry For Me

Minions and Drug dealers

I'm friends with the monster that under my bed, get along with the voices inside of my head, you're trying to save me Stop holding your breath, and you think I'm crazy...
- Monster Rihanna ft Eminem

Lyric O'ryan

Eighteen. The age every kid can't wait to be. The age where your practically an adult. You can do basically anything you want.

While other people who just recently turned eighteen planned to party, I plan to kill myself.

As I stare at the ceiling in my room I can't help but to laugh. I am finally doing what I have wanted to do ever since my mother left me with the devil. I'm finally going to die.

Looking over at my broken down desk clock, I see that it is 8:36. I am anxious. Waiting for 9:30 to come around so that I can sneak out of the

house and finally die. Getting up I look for some clothes to put on my still sore body. The hot shower was painful but highly worth it, lessening some of the tenderness in my body.

Slowly I throw on a pair of distressed, stonewashed ripped skinny jeans, an all-black t-shirt, and a leather Jacket.

I smile at my choice of clothing. Despite the devil being heavily rich he doesn't give me much money to spend.

This is the nicest pair of clothes that I own. Taking a comb, I blindly pick at my curly but soft fro, not wanting to look at any of the mirrors in the room.

Looking at the clock, I see that it is time for me to go. Picking up my carving knife and all-black Nikes I tiptoe out of the small basement I've been living in.

As I walk past the kitchen and living room all I can think about is freedom and what it will be like to fly with the angels far up above.

Halfway to the door, I am stopped. Stopped by a voice that is almost as evil as the devil himself. The devil's minion.

" Hey, where do you think you're going?" Conner Jones, my father's right-hand man, the pedophile.

Standing at only 5'6, my 5'9 frame towers over him but still, he frightens me. Conner was a big man with rolls for days.

Black as tar with teeth as yellow as golden piss. He had a crooked nose, big fish lips, and a face that even a mother could not love.

He was a man who loved a lot of things though. He loves money, cars, and food. Most of all the bald fuck loved touching me.

"I asked where you were going, I expect an answer." He says standing a little too close to my comfort zone while touching my hair.

"To the store", I replied back timidly.

"Mmm", he says while smelling me. "Looking and smelling this good? I think not. You're probably trying to go out and fuck one of those little boys. Why go fuck a boy when you can have a man."

He then traps me against the wall putting all of his weight on me while trying to rub my lower region through my jeans.

"No", I strangle out while trying to push his hands off of my body.

"Stop."

"Stop trying to fight it. You know you want me." He says while somehow unbuttoning my pants. I struggle to get him off.

Becoming frustrated at my weakness, I start to cry.

"Help!" I scream. "Help me!"

" be quiet bitch" he says before slapping me. I am momently weakened and shocked as the taste of

copper fills my mouth. As my movement falters he takes that as his advantage, ripping my shirt in half, exposing my worn out pink bra.

He then grabs one boob harshly and began to suck on the other one through the material.

Still crying, I try to fight him off. Pushing and shoving as much as my sore arms would let me, seeing as though I couldn't use my legs because they are trapped between his.

He then starts to kiss and suck on my neck leaving big purple bruises on them, while grunting about how good I taste.

As he goes into a sick heavenly state, I break my right leg free and knee him in the balls as hard as I can.

"Aahh!! You bitch!" He screams before crumbling to the ground. Not wanting to give him a chance to get up

I rush to the door, unlock it and run as fast as I can, not caring that my upper body is being exposed to the cold air or that I don't have any shoes on my feet.

Deshawn Braxton

"Yo King? Let me holla at you for a minute", one of the crack heads on the corner called out to me.

Walking closer to where the voice had come from I come face to face with a drugged-out female.

"Wassup ma, what you need?"

"Let m-me get two r-rocks and a bag of w-weed." She stutters while scratching at her skin.

"Ard that's forty, pay up." Reaching in her dogged out nikes she pulls out a couple of cranked up bills and pass them to me.

I count the money before passing the drugs to her. As soon as she gets them, she starts smiling and jumping around like she won the lottery.

I shake my head and turn to leave when I notice her figure. Walking away I become disappointed in myself.

Damn. I just sold drugs to a pregnant lady.

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