To Kill A Cliché

One-shot.

Does anyone ever know when they are going to die? I always knew I was going to die when I was young, but I never imagined I would be this young. I wanted to mark my claim on the world. I wanted to leave something behind, but I didn’t and I never would. Maybe it was a little girl’s dream, but I wanted a dashing prince to sweep me off my feet and give me my happily-ever-after. Well, I did get a prince…until he shot and killed me. That just about ruined my happily-ever-after and the way I looked at love. My life was over or maybe it was just beginning. I guess it depends on the way you view life and the after-life. So here I am, in the after-life, shifting through the memories of my past. Memories that I don’t want to relive, especially the last one. But maybe that’s the best way to start over; go through all my memories and then forget about them.

- -

I had grown up in Oakland all my life. Abuse, violence, suicide, depression and killings were a natural thing; they were all I knew. My mother was murdered when I was five years old. She was sitting on the front porch, waiting for me to come home from school when it happened. An old white car pulled up in front of the house and the driver put six bullets in her. I cried myself to sleep for a year after that and refused to go anywhere near the front porch. A year after that my father committed suicide; he couldn’t handle the pressure of taking care of me. Not that he really took care of me; after my mom died he turned his love for me to abuse. He never broke any bones or anything, but I got slapped around a lot. I moved in with my grandma after that and things got better. Sure I still cried myself to sleep, but life was much better than what it could have been.

When I started high school, that’s when things really changed. It was the year I met Bryan, the year my depression lifted and I was floating around in a sky full of bright, beautiful colors. I remember the first day of my freshman year—it was only a year ago—I was wandering around like a lost sheep, desperately looking for my friends when he bumped into me. He’d apologized and walked away, but I never forgot him. Somehow, after that, he seemed to be everywhere. Well, it might have helped that he was in my Algebra class.

The first time I had a real conversation with him was when our Algebra teacher switched my seat with the girl that was sitting next to him. He’d looked over at me and smiled—like he knew something good was going to happen.

“I’m Bryan,” he’d said, and just like that, I was hooked. Maybe it was the way his brown eyes sparkled when he was happy or maybe it was the way his black hair curled slightly at the back of his neck. Whatever it was got me hooked—like I was trying drugs for the first time and got addicted to it.

Things were never bad with Bryan. He rarely ever got mad at me and our fights were extremely rare. My friends would sigh when I told them all the things he’d done for me. They were amazed that someone so good and so pure could come from the ghetto. (He’d obviously proved otherwise though.) Being around Bryan was a breath of fresh air; I could feel him everywhere.

There was this one time when he’d taken me to Golden Gate Park—it was the week after my sixteenth birthday and exactly a month before the…incident. He pulled me through the throngs of little kids so he could show me some slides that were made out of stone. Kids were sitting on pieces on cardboard and sliding down the slides, laughing with joy. He’d tugged on my hand and made me climb up the stairs so that we could slide down. When it was finally our turn we sat on the cardboard and went down. After several more trips we left and he took me over to a cliff where we could watch the sun go down over the ocean. As the last rays of light disappeared, he whispered his love to me. After that, I was stuck on cloud nine. Everything I did revolved around Bryan and he was on my mind all day and night.

Like all good things, things changed. He started becoming distant and started talking about guns and knifes. It was like he had finally cracked under some unseen pressure. One day he was full of happiness and the next he was just a bunch of broken pieces. He came over on January 20, a Sunday night, and started talking nonsense.

“Do you ever think about killing yourself?” he’d asked with a glint in his eye.

“Nooo,” I’d said slowly, wondering why he was bringing it up.

“Does it scare you?”

“Of course. Why would anyone want to do it?”

“Would it scare you if I pulled out a gun and threatened to kill myself?”

“What’s gotten into you?” I’d asked, wringing my hands nervously.

“Let’s see if you’d really get scared,” he had said as he pulled out the gun.

A hysterical scream boiled in my throat. “Oh my God, oh my God. Where did you get that?”

“Found it in my dad’s closet,” he’d said toying around with the gun as if it was a water gun.

“Please put it away,” I had said, my voice cracking.

“So, does it scare you? What if I pointed it right at your head? Are you scared now? Would you be if I pulled the trigger?”

“Yes, I’m scared. Just. Please. Stop.” I’d said. I put my hands over my face and let the tears fall slowly.

“I was just messing around Naomi. You didn’t think I would actually hurt you, did you?” I didn’t answer him; I had simply stared at the floor.

He kept on messing with the gun when I heard a shot go off. I fell to the floor. There was a lot of swearing and him saying he loved me, but he placed the gun in my hand and took off.

Whoever said dreams could come true and dashing princes would save you was lying. When it comes down to it, you are left with nothing. No prince will ever save you. You’ll always be alone.

- -

San Francisco Chronicle.

Girl shot to death in Oakland by boy trying to scare her, police say

Henry K. Lee, Chronicle Staff Writer

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

(01-21) 12:15 PST OAKLAND -- A 16-year-old girl was shot and killed in West Oakland by her boyfriend early today as he tried to scare her with a gun, police said.

The victim, whose name wasn't released, was found suffering from a gunshot wound about 12:45 a.m. at a home on the 900 block of Seventh Street, said Officer Roland Holmgren, a police spokesman.

Initially, officers were called to investigated reports of a suicide, but they later determined that the girl's 17-year-old boyfriend had shot her while trying to scare her, Holmgren said.

The boyfriend, whose name was withheld because of his age, was arrested. The case remains under investigation pending a review by Alameda County prosecutors.

The killing was Oakland's sixth homicide this year.

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Author’s note: Weelll, this is pretty much the most serious thing I have ever written. This was an English assignment that my teacher liked a lot, so much that she said I should put it in the school’s literary magazine….I got an A. Anddd, I really liked it too, so I decided to post it on here for everyone to read, so hope you liked it.

NO, I don’t live in Oakland (I live on the other sideof the bay by S.F.), YES there really is a Golden Gate park, and YES there really are stone slides (believe me, I’ve been there). I have absolutely no idea who the girl, or her boyfriend, or her family is, so this is all my imagination. Thanks and please review.

- Alicia