Narrative of Gangs

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The colour black never represented me in any way, it had nothing to do with my nature, until now. Like an owl roaming around the lower east side of New York streets, we created the dark shadow of terror. Our masculine body armoured with a leather jacket and painted with absurd tattoos made society turn their heads towards the ground as we walk pass.

As the sun goes down, the innocence of New York sleeps, while the predators hunt for their next victim. It was icy cold, yet we could bare it all. We were like lions escaping the torment of the suffocating metal bars that kept us away from society.

The ignition lighted up the smoke of marijuana in between Chrishan’s fingers, ready to inhale the beauty of a toxic killer. We sat around an enclosed corner vandalised with graffiti waiting for our next prey.

“Ay man, have some, its good shit.”
Taylor offered some of nature’s beauty, all crushed up and rolled into a fine cylindrical shape waiting to be lit up. Inhaling the goodness of life, yet, to society it was the complete opposite. I sat on a milk crate reflecting deeply of the thoughts swimming in my head. I felt empty, but comfortable of my lifestyle as a New York murderer. My brothers were like a family to me, a family I never had. We respected each other and no one else. We fought against the innocent fighting for our own justice. I was happy of who I was and where I belonged.

I heard the “click” and “clack” of someone walking. We dropped our smoked marijuana and waited. The shadow became larger and larger, until I saw a red velvet of clothing with embedded gold onto it. There it was, the most beautiful victim I had ever encountered. The long strands of her hair swayed against the wind, I could smell her fragrance from where I sat. Her beauty glowed the darkness surrounding the atmosphere, her innocence was seen on her face as she walked passed.

“Ay girl!” Chrishan shouted with a seductive voice.
He stood up, and picked up his smoke.
I followed...
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