Street (Urban Fiction)

Street

This was my life. I didn't care what anyone said about what I did, or who I did it with. I came from a place where you had to be able to look a someone in the eye and talk like y'all friends, but also picture yourself holding a gun to his head. That's just how things went.

Girls hated me because of my ability to attract guys, but they never said anything because they knew I'd bust them up quick. Guys always said they liked how the color of my gun complimented my brown skin. They also liked how my curves felt on their hands. They said they loved how my legs were shaped. How my thighs were a nice size in proportion to the rest of my body, and how they slightly curved in at the knees and led into my plump calves. They said when they looked at me they couldn't get past my eyes, they got pulled in by my face, and were sold once they saw my lips. But niggas were just game, and you had to know the game to play it.

My mom had two kids. Life was hard on us, but harder on her. I cried sometimes when I thought about her, then got pissed off when I thought of my father. She didn't like the thought of the streets being a part of her life and it was a part of his. He got tired of her telling him that the street wasn't his friend. It was just waiting for the right time to kill him. I guess he was happy in the end. His new chick didn't bother him about that, as long as the money was coming in. I wondered sometimes if momma still loved him. I got my answer one day.

"Karisha?" My mom called.

"Yes, momma?"

"Go and get my clogs, please."

The sound of her voice revealed more than just fatigue, but I wouldn't let that deter me. It was my job to be the rock of the family. I went and got her shoes from her closet and put them on her feet. She used the arm of the chair to help herself up, and walked towards the door.

"Your dad'll probably be here in thirty minutes or so, alright?" She informed me.

"Yeah," I replied with a hint of an attitude.

She turned around and looked at me, but I avoided her gaze. "Risha baby, look at me. I can't leave y'all here alone. If it was up to me I wouldn't have him watching y'all either, but Jordan is busy this week. Alright?"

I gave her half of a smile, and then nodded. I had no intention of arguing. Working as much as she did and maintaining a smile on her face had her worn out. She didn't want us to know, but I could tell. I learned how to read eyes and interpret body languages at a young age. I decided to take a shower and did the same for Michael. That way, Marcus had nothing to say to me.

At age thirteen my butt was coming in so my pants were a little snug. My breasts were at their weird stage so I also layered my shirts. Marcus walked in just as I was tying my hair up.

"Yo!" I could tell my father's voice in a stadium full of people. He had a gruff voice that demanded attention at times, and was just plain annoying at others.

I rolled my eyes at the sound of it. He then made his way up the stairs. I felt each step as if they were my own heartbeat. They began to slowly fade away like footprints do when a wave crashes on the shore. I figured he was headed to Michael's room, but then I felt them again. That time they were quicker and louder than before.

He flung my room door open. I showed no emotion, for I had no interest for who was at the door. Neither did I care why he was there. I guess that aggravated him. I saw his eyes in the mirror as they quickly filled with anger. He looked like he was getting ready to make a move, so I did the same. I didn't know what he wanted, but I wasn't in the mood.

"Marcus, what do you want?" I questioned with a saucy tone as I placed one of my hands on my hip.

Turning my back to him gave him an opportunity and he seized it. He grabbed me by the hand that was on my hip with such force that I went past him and into my full length mirror. The sound of the glass shattering as my head hit it was so clear. It's like my ears were deaf when it came to any other sound. My brown eyes quickly filled with tears.