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English 2 - Pahomov

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3 Strikes

            Today is it. Today is the day that I leave this house forever, and never have to be near my mother, or annoying siblings again. Given this may not have been the best way to go, but it’s still better than being in that terrible house right? Why is that even a question? After today I know for a fact that it’s for the best that I am no longer in this house at all. No longer will the person that is supposed to love me most blatantly disrespect me. She deserves to be without me; she deserves to have to struggle to make sure that everything goes fine in the house. Fuck it; honestly she doesn’t even deserve to live! But that will come in time. Until that glorious day, I am happy to just be removed from the situation; whether I am in a cop car or not. Why am I in a cop car you ask? The kid who everyone expects to be perfect? The kid that everyone looks up to, and expects to have the best of the best grades, and the best of the best attitudes? Your cousin? What is he doing in the back of a cop car? He’s never even been to the principles office without leaving with the sound of metal bouncing on his neck from the newest award, so why is he leaving his house with the only sound of medal clanging coming from the handcuffs on his wrists? This makes no sense to you I know. But once you think about it, believe me it will. Sure I was happy, during school, and whenever I was around you. Sure I got all my work done, and made sure that all of my class work was completed. Sure I was able to get the valedictorian award 2 years ago in 8th grade without even having to really try, but what about the things everyone doesn’t see? What about the things that cannot be seen with the naked eye? The things that can only be seen if you get to know this person. Most often these things that cannot be seen are the things that are hurting us the most, and these things sometimes push you to do things you wouldn’t normally do. Especially when they build up inside you, and get released all at once like an irrupting volcano. I should be used to it. It should not bother me that much at this point right? I mean I have been dealing with it all my life. The constant verbal abuse stemming from a sick and bitter mother with nothing better to do than bring you down along with her.

 “Nigga shut the fuck up!” The first 2 strikes came fast and unexpected. As what seemed like half my brain tried to register the pain that I had in my face, the other half was already reacting with a sense of overwhelming anger, and pure hatred. In an instant my brain had chosen whether or not it would go into fight or flight mode, and unluckily for my mother, it had chosen fight. As the pain continued to engulf my face, before I could realize, another strike hit my face. The third strike. Strike three took me to a place I had never been before. The anger that burned inside me; the adrenaline that rushed through my veins; these two things brought me to do something that I never believed I would do; hit her back. My one solid strike to her face had more force behind it than the 3 strikes she had landed on me combined. This resulted in more surprise on the faces of my older sister, and little brother who had been sitting on the bunk bed next to us watching the entire thing. From the moment it happened I knew what would come next, but deep down inside I knew I didn’t care, because I would finally leave the abuse that I had struggled living through for the past 16 years. Not another year, not another month, not another week, day, hour, minute, or second, would I deal with it all. So as I sit here in the back of this cop car and you wonder why I am here? You should be wondering, why am I not here earlier? And the answer would be, because of the three strikes. 

By: Kenyatta Bundy Jr
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