Tears flooded my crystal eyes. My lips quivered. I cried. Not from sadness, but from heartbreak. There’s no going back now.
But before I tell you who I am, or why I am crying, I must start from the beginning.
Sixteen years ago on a stormy Monday night, I was born in Cell E-015. My mother was in jail for theft. Again. Even though I was her one and only child, I was ignored my whole childhood, but I still loved my mama.
I was raised mostly by my Mama’s fellow female inmates. I didn’t think anything of it for the first six, innocent years of my short life.
I was only two months shy of my seventh year alive when my mama and I were released from the prison. I was so happy when we were because Mama told me that I would finally meet my dad.
Daddy and Mama taught me everything I know. Daddy taught me to kill and fight. Mama taught me all the swear words I know. She also taught me how and where to run when the police sirens blare, and how to steal at my best.
Now, almost ten years later when I was released at seven years old, I stand here in the alley I learned to embrace and love. I stand, waiting for Mama and Daddy. Daddy busted out of prison and Mama and I are helping him to run away.
“Brooke,” a voice whispered in my ear, “Its time to go. Now!”
Breaking away from my trance, I see the figure of my mother.
The same perfectly curled light brown hair that she passed down to me. Mama and I are skinny, but Mama is anorexic from all the running and her bad deeds. Her crystal blue eyes sparkle as if she’s innocent, but I know better.
But this time, her eyes were not filled with trouble or even anger. They were filled with pure fear. The fear you have when you know you’re in big trouble or the fear when you just wake up from a horrific nightmare. That was the kind of fear her blue eyes beheld while her plaid shirt had hidden red stains and her torn up jeans had even more rips and snags.
“Brooklyn Waters, lets go!” My mother’s voice trembled