Just A Memory
The memories of what happened flash through my mind at rapid speeds. They are so clear that it’s like it happened yesterday. Maybe it did, I don’t remember.
But I do remember that night. I remember Eric walking beside me. We were coming home from the skate park. It was getting dark.
“My mom is going to kill me,” Eric had said to me. He had torn his new jeans, jeans that had cost his mother $80.
That was when we heard the shouting. I turned my head to see the car driving slowly toward us, the man scowling at us with the window rolled down.
“Well?” the man demanded. “Are you going to answer me, boys?”
“What?” I had asked dumbly.
“Don’t play stupid with me,” the man said agressivley.
Eric laughed. “Relax, man,” he said. “We’re just going home.” He began to walk away. I followed.
That’s when we heard the shot. It zipped passed us too fast to see, but we could feel it. We ran.
I don’t remember much after that. I remember running, and then falling. Then nothing. I don’t know what happened to Eric. I hope he’s all right.
I don’t know what happened to me either. This place, it’s dark. I don’t know where I am, or how I got here.
I can’t help but wonder why. Why am I here? What did I do? Why did that man shoot at us? We were just kids. We were just going home. He hated us: I could see it in his eyes. But he had no reason to hate us. We never did anything to him. We weren’t breaking the law. But he shot at us. He shot at us.
And now I’m lost.
I just want to go home.