Writing as Liberation
~In life we may experience things and go through things that we don’t feel comfortable telling others about. Through experience i realized the more i kept inside the more imprisoned i became. For me writing is a form of liberation. I no longer feel imprisoned by my deep dark secrets of life experiences. Once i express them with a pen and pad i am FREE.~ Justin Corney
The Saddest Day
Cars where abandoned in the middle of the street, people were screaming at the top of there lungs in every direction. I stepped over collapsed bodies going into shock. Only thing on my mind was to make it home. I looked over to my friend as he attempted to light a cigarette. His hand was shaking trying to put the tip to the flame. Sweat was dripping down his face. A simple two step motion seemed impossible. After several failed attempts he lost it."What the hell is going on" he shouted pacing back and forth. I gathered up whatever strength i had left and grabbed him. I shook him as hard as i could but from the look in his eyes i could tell i lost him already. At that moment the first tower came crumbling down. A large cloud of smoke dominated the sky. The screams became more intense. Panic turned into fear and afraid became terrified, but through it all my objective was still to make it home. Home was only a few blocks away but it seem like eternity. As we headed in the direction everyone was fleeing from i can hear people yelling for us to turn back. Finally we reached our destination. Thousands of people filled the streets. Some bloody and battered. Locals from my neighborhood handed out cups of water and consoled the injured. Along with the good deeds came the bad. I saw the neighborhood fiends running through the projects with 3 and 4 briefcases. They had watches, wallets and jackets. They took anything they could grabbed and preyed on anyone who was vulnerable. Kids walked in stores with empty pockets that came out full. The arab family who owned the corner store was being verbally abused and at one point physically attack. I raced to my building to frightened to take the elevator i trooped it up 11 flights of stairs. By the time i stuck the key in the door the second tower had dropped. Faint and out of breathe i saw my mother sitting in the living room eyes glued to the T.V. "America is under attack." I heard the broadcaster announce. "MA whats going on". She looked up at me lost for words. We both sat in front of the T.V speechless watching the devastating events happening in our country. That night i couldn't sleep. The sound of fighter Jets scowling the night air had me on edge. I paced back and forth from the T.V to the window. Army tanks and troops patrolled my neighborhood streets. I couldnt understand why people do the things i witness to each other. On that day September 11,2001 would remain one of the saddest days in American History.
I began selling crack for a few months now but i caught on quick. Weed use to be my thing but once i saw how fast the crack money was the transition was a no brainer. When i sold weed it was mostly to my friends and classmates, but the crack game introduced me to a whole new clientele. Crack showed me that you can know a person their whole life but once they start chasing that high there actions will make you never look at them the same. That goes both ways for the user and the seller. The things people will do to make a dollar are just as ruthless as the things people will do to get a high. In the end once that dollar is spent and once that high is gone you have to face yourself in the mirror and for some people they cant live with that. One day i was walking around my projects handing out my number to some of the fiends i know in the neighborhood. As i was walking i heard somebody yelling my name out in the back of the building. I didnt recognize the face at first but as i got closer i knew who it was. "How you doing." I said as i approached. "Im good sweetie hows your mother." She said avoiding eye contact. She held open the staircase door and proceeded to go in motioning me to follow her. Still unaware of my purpose there i followed behind her."My moms is good she asked about you the other day. I told her i haven't seen you in awhile." I can tell she could care less about what i was saying she had something else on her mind. She reached down in her pocket and pulled out 4 dollar bills and the rest of the money was change. "You got something" she said still avoiding eye contact. Her question caught me off guard and i stood there in disbelief. In the back of my mind i was hoping she didnt mean what i think she meant but before i can even marinate on that her next few words solidified what i just heard. "Im a little short ill give you the rest when chuckie gets home." Chuckie was one of my closest friends and this was his mother standing in front of me. This woman practically raised me and now shes a customer. "