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Rated: E · Short Story · Crime/Gangster · #2244382
I've taken to calling it "The hayfields of Detroit" cause you know...I don't think so.
Info: I was in 6th grade when I wrote this. Feel free to review IF you'd like, but It's not meant to be taken seriously at all. This was an ELA assignment, and I was proud of it at the time. GPs if you point out the inconsistencies (there are quite a few) Hopefully you can read it without having a stroke...

(I call it the hayfields of Detriot because the city of Detroit doesn't have hayfields I'm pretty sure, cause it's a city.)

Note: The main character is in fact a boy. I never mention it, so I thought I'd clear that up. Enjoy!


I started out as a carefree kid. Smiling, bouncing, giggling and running through every day. Nothing was real to me until we lost the house. That was the experience that changed my life. We hitched a ride to Corktown, Detroit on an abandoned train car. Just me, my Mom, my Dad, and my sister Ivie, my 8-year-old sister.

I’m 13, with blonde hair. It’s long but sticks to my head in loose curls. My eyes are emerald green. I have pale skin. A light spray of freckles splash across my nose and onto my cheekbones. I’m skinny for my age, but also short. Don’t ask how that works, I don’t know either. Ivie, on the other hand, is tall for her age, only about 6 or 7 inches shorter than me. Her long blonde hair falls down her back in a straight line, then ripples into waves about mid-back. Her eyes looked like someone took 2 shamrocks and threw them into their eyes. Her eyes could be soft or fierce, changing in an instant. People assumed we were twins, this irritated me. I was 5 years older than her. She grew up to fast, living in Corktown. Gangs roamed the streets, and if you weren’t careful, you could get cornered. Dad is never here, always in a casino somewhere, but he has gray-white hair and a serious face. My mom was always working, so she was home around 5:00 and left at about 7:30 every night. She went to her first two jobs in the morning and afternoon. She left at 6:30 every morning and worked the whole day. She’s older than 45, younger than 50. She has blonde hair like Ivie and me, more often than not it was pulled in a bun for work. She was the parent that cared about school and other extracurricular activities her kids did. Then it hit me. The first day of school was tomorrow! The prospect of going to the 12th classroom, the 6th door on the right, was frightening. I would more than likely fail classes, making me a disappointment to everyone. I went to bed with an impending feeling of doom.

Monday, August 1st came around, and I felt myself drifting down the halls to my first-period class. Social Studies. Ugh. My teacher has big red lips, big red heels, a short red dress, and auburn hair. Her name is Mrs. Barner. Figures, she’s as red as one. I was glad to leave after class was over until I got shoved against my locker by Blain Tumbull, a well-known gang leader.
“ Alright punk.” He said in a menacing voice.
I look for help, but no one would meet my eyes. The only people close enough to help me Jacob Richards and Jax Rumex, and they weren’t going to. They were Blain’s goons, his buddies. Blain was tall, with jet-black hair. He never bothered to cut it, it was long and roughly hacked off about once a year, only when it got about armpit length. He was at least 15, he had failed twice. Ripped jeans and black hightops, he was unpredictable. Jacob was about an inch taller at age 14, he was dark skinned and dark haired. Jax was shorter than both, he was 13, his blonde hair reached down to his shoulders, and he had gray eyes. I was scared of him more than the others, he was dangerous. I was snapped back into reality when Blain kicked me in the leg.
“Didja hear me?”
I earned another kick. My knees buckled, and I fell into my locker. As Blain and his entourage swaggered away, I felt myself starting to cry. I tried to stop, but I couldn’t. I went home early.

The next morning, Blain and his buddies were flinging spitballs at me. I scrunched down in my seat, trying to protect myself. Spitballs rained on the back of my head. Blain howled with laughter. Laughing at me. I hated him. I hated them. But what could I do? Nothing. I just had to sit like a stupid turtle with my head scrunched down. But I was a human, a talking one. I told the teacher and that earned me a smack with the textbook from Jacob. My day went downhill from there. I was bruised and battered as I trudged home. I was quiet at dinner. Ivie wasn’t. She was telling about who liked who and who didn’t like who and all the best gossip. I stood up from the table and started clearing the dishes. I then turned on the news in the living room. Blain made the news again. I went to bed early. As I drifted in and out of sleep, a strong hand crashed onto my mouth, stifling my scream. The hand covering my mouth was unwavering as the other hand slugged me in the stomach. The owner of the hands hissed at me to shut up. As my Eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw it was Jax. His blonde hair caught the moonlight. His arm was bleeding steadily onto his shirt.
“What happened?”
Blain pulled a knife on me.”
“ I told him no.”
“So you come here?”
“Closest house.” was his reply. His voice was trembling a little. He was scared for his life. He had the right to be. Nblain would always get what he wanted, no matter who got hurt. I told him to follow me to the bathroom so I could bandage his arm, which was now bleeding on the carpet. He started to walk towards me, then passed out cold on the floor. I bandaged his arm and let him sleep. Tomorrow was Saturday. He could rest. I told my Mom that we had to help him. She said we could. I go to school on Monday. I get shoved into my locker again. I overhear some news about a gang fight. I tell Jax when I get home. He decides we’re going. So we do.

On September 1st, we sneak out under the cover of darkness to an old pasture. Jax stays hidden, but I yell. I tell them I have a new opponent for Blain. He says heel take whoever it is on. Jax steps out of the shadows, A look of pure malice in his eyes. Blain has a look of disgust as he flicks out a switchblade. Its handle is as black as night, its blade gleams in the moonlight. Jax flashes something too, but not a knife. No, a grin.
What’s going on?
“ I brought the dork. He was pretty easy to convince.”
Jax gestures towards me and the knife is aimed at my heart. Blain slashes, I dodge. And thus a dance is begun. Him slashing, me dodging.The blade grazed my shoulder. The blade plunged deep. Into Blain’s chest. Jax was bluffing the whole time! That was the last time I ever saw him. He disappeared and was gone. If it wasn’t for him, I would be gone too.

The next morning, the police showed up asking for Jax. I told them I hadn’t seen him, which was the truth. The whole truth. The unvanquished truth. I never saw him after the fight. They never caught him. You might see him, if you do, say hello. Tell him thank you.


A/N: I definitely deserve rewards for this. I need all the rewards. Good Lord it's bad.
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