Split

Chapter 1 Hollow

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          Death. We take life for granted. One moment we are there with the people we care about and the next... it's as if time stopped and all you can think about is how you're all alone now. Everyone's time comes eventually, but when someone is cheated the time they deserve and they die still believing you hate them when really, they were the person you loved the most, it's heart-wrenching. God has a way of things, doesn't he? I wish I could meet God. I would question him for all the pain he has caused. The almighty God, whose supposed to enlighten you and guide you to a happy life, causes nothing but pain... It's ironic really.  We marry someone and promise to love each other till death do us apart, yet we truly understand love when they are gone. This is the story like many others, yet no other akin. This is my story. 

          In my dreams, I am with the woman I love, whose face is still not quite clear to me, and my future children. We are living in a beach house where every day the blazing sun wakes us and wave's soothing resonance allures us to sleep. It's a peaceful life. We have everything we could possibly want. I am content with my beautiful wife and lively children. The beach house was my dream,  my place to go when reality became too much to bear. The reality that stripped me bare of any morals I had. This reality was located in the suburbs of Chicago where families were too poor to resort to legal methods of taking care of their loved ones. Stealing was more a chore than a lifestyle. If you didn't steal, you didn't eat. However, when everyone tries to steal, conflict is bound to occur. That's why gangs were created. They maintained turf and became somewhat of the underground police of their area. These gangs, though, often wanted more. Engaging on others' turfs became a call of war. Something to ignite the sparks which would turn into a wildfire... scorching me along with it.

          My family and I lived in a one bedroom apartment that was in terrible conditions. the wall paint had peeled off and the wood was exposed to rotting. The bathroom would often become clogged and needed constant maintenance. The living room was more a kitchen really. We had a rough financial situation, but we managed. My father had lost his life in a car accident when I was four years old and my mother was pregnant with my little sister. Being a stay home mom, she had a hard time finding a job that could sustain our distraught family. Eventually, we had to sell our house because we couldn't afford the mortgage. With that money, we took this apartment and had managed to scrape by for the last ten years without too much trouble. Now, my mother was forty years old, yet looked as if she were sixty. Having to work fifty hours a week for the last ten years took every fiber in her body. Some days she wanted to give in and cried because she couldn't for our sake. The rent was becoming too expensive for us to live in and if we lost this house, we would be on the street. Being the older sibling, I knew I had to do something. After begging for a job everywhere, I found a little restaurant whose manager was caring and understood my situation. She was willing to pay me under the table. Yet, it wasn't enough. A few months later, when my mother came home from work and sat down to take a well-deserved nap on the couch before she had to go back to work, she began struggling to breathe. I was at work and my sister was playing with some kids down the block. The stress from not being able to pay bills and the constant overload on her body was too much. She collapsed and no one was there to help. When my sister came home, she ran to call for help, but it was too late... The  doctor had said she died from a heart attack and that it was caused by too much stress. My sister was bawling her eyes out and I was in too much shock to cry. This was when I truly realized life was not going to get better and there was no light at the end of the tunnel, just the tunnel.