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Chapter One

Face’ to face with reality!



BANG!


As Jordan fell to the ground, he realized that he had been shot. The weeds and dead grass of the field were coarse against his skin, but the warm blood soaking his clothes and hair was actually comforting; he had not felt warmth in so long. He mustered enough strength to roll over onto his back. With eyes wide open, Jordan saw his mother flailing about frantically, running towards him, and he could hear her screaming, “They shot my boy! They shot Jordan!” His mother’s face began to get cloudy, and as his vision faded, he could hear his girlfriend Iris calling out to him. But things slowly got quieter until he could not really hear anything at all. Jordan was dying in this open field called “The Pass”, and there was nothing that he or anyone else could do about it. His fourteen short years of life flashed before him. As he drifted away, his heartbeat became louder and louder in his ears; it raced like a horse in full gallop. Various decisions he made all week, all his life, had set him on this journey. Choices had produced unseen results. Jordan was coming face to face with his reality. How did he get here? He remembered now; it all started last Friday. 


FRIDAY JUNE 8, 2007


"Pass the blunt, Jay-Low.” Jordan reached out from the couch to his tall, wiry framed older friend Jay-Low who stood by the old television, inhaling as if it was his last breath. They were downstairs in the basement of Jay-Low’s home, and his grandmother was upstairs in her room. Jordan could barely make out Jay-Low’s silhouette in the dimly lit, grungy basement, and the gray haze of weed smoke did not make it any easier. Once upon a time this basement was a warm and inviting place, well decorated and full of character. After Jay-Low began to hang out there, everything seemed to just deteriorate; soon it was nothing more than an ugly, dirty, unkempt incubator for trouble. There was a cooler in the corner for beer and an old coffee table in front of the couch that served as an ashtray and a resting place for their feet. A dimly lit room with no telephone and only a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling was enough for these guys. The basement was their hangout. It was a place where they could gather with their friends and not be bothered.

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