Creative Writing: Fatherless

For many youths, gang life is all they know. Many gang members have other family members who are involved in gangs already. In Lauger’s (2012) ethnography of the DFW boyz, he found

The man looked onto the battlefield close and far as the dirt landed and slid off his face the sound of bombs were muffled the cries of men were sharp and penetrating he stood over the breech with such comfort while a hundred thousand fear riddled eyes stared from behind he turned his face deep wrickled and rugged filthy his eyes with dark bags underneath from nights with no sleep but the faces he saw were much different men no more than 30 with their whole lives maybe not even 10 minutes ahead of them he's seen it a hundred times before he knew these men were divided they were there together but they were going in it alone with this in mind the man stared back and spoke "At the edge of our hope... At the end of our time... WE CHOOSE TO BELIEVE

what is it that makes us feel the need to escape? Today was a totally different day; for the first time the sky wasn't pitch black covered with smoke everywhere, and there was no noise coming from the fighter jets, or guns, there were people repairing the broken up houses and filling up the trenches that were once considered useless to fix. For the first time in a very long time old Jenking's bar was open, and there was noise of partying and laughter coming from there. "This could mean only one thing; the war was finally over" The war that took away so many lives, the war that separated people living on the same grounds with just a painted white boundary was finally over. "This meant I could finally cross that line and I could explore

Henry and I, walked swiftly to the middle of the camp. I read his mind and could hear that he didn’t want to be late, just in case they punished boys for being late. Henry and I, stood side by side and waited for other boys to show up. Within five minutes, the entire field was completely full. About one hundred men equipped with electronic guns and dressed in black equipment marched around rows of boys.

The power station was heavily guarded, three snorpians and nine servants were there at all times. Brock had so far failed to get close enough to it to determine how it worked, but from what he could see he doubted it had been built on Morpheus. The only thing he knew for certain, was that it was the sole source of power for the barrier and the stunners the snorpians carried. He had deduced that the power that it produced was limited, there were no lights or other powered equipment in the entire compound.

Yolanda sprinted through the forest, the earth pounding beneath her feet. The rattling motion of the eucalyptus trees towering above her matched the green in her eyes - moving rapidly but firmly fixated on what lay in front of her. She was extremely fast, yet consistent and predictable, like the uniform spinning of a turntable. The forest was vast and carried on for as far as the eye could see in every direction. This was not the first time she had ran like this.

It's any given evening on the Chattahoochee River- rain or shine, blazing heat and humidity, blistering cold, or any condition in between. Pressing out from under the bustling highway bridge is a 55 ft. long, 1.5 ft. wide carbon fiber racing shell. Eight rowers sit facing the stern each holding an 11 ft. long oar to hook through the water in unison. Eight oars, eight sliding seats, eight outriggers, and eight swinging athletes. As the stern emerges from under the bridge, however, nine bodies come into view.

The mass media and many other people have attempted to define the problems of inner city ghettos in terms of American racism and brutal police tactics; however, according to Sociologist Victor Rios in his book Punished Policing the Lives of Black and Latino Boys, the inner city ghettos exist in many of American’s largest cities and are a vicious web of concentrated poverty, disconnected youth, and a culture of gang violence. Adding to these incorrigible conditions, are the punitive social controls used by the police, politicians, school officials, mass media, businesses, and families that prioritize racial profiling and violent control. The reality of the inner city culture is extremely genuine with an arrangement of norms, values and habits

Upon the swallowing waves, over the boat came, descending madly as it crashed upon bricks of water. Sea foam pelted at the sailors like bullets, fire billowed from the mast as those scrambled upon their last dredges of life to protect themselves. The last of the mast came crashing into the water. Far beyond, waves lapped at the edges of sandy beach. Fog rolled swiftly over the rustling palm trees, weaving low upon the ground as the passings of a storm began to reach the island.

He looks at me solemnly "Any girl of your age would have been broken by now. And not just on the inside." "Any boy your age would've been hiding under a bed by now. " I retort with a sickly grin. "I highly doubt that, but perhaps some are already in hiding."

The faint buzzing of an old street light in the distance was the only sound that filled the air. The loud dogs that paced yellow lawns and fenced in porches were deep asleep. It was as melancholy as it could get. My hand trembled, I looked down at the paper weapon clasped between my fingers. I lifted my hand and pressed the cold cigarette to my chapped lips, long ago accepting the fact that I 'd never remember the taste of his mouth, in the same way I didn 't remember the last time my life wasn 't anything more than a huge fucking shit show.

The second time Cole made a huge foolish choice was when he was on the island and burned down his shelter and all of this supplies. After Edwin had left Cole alone on the island, Cole decided to try to escape. He thought it would be a good idea to burn down his shelter and supplies to create a distraction for someone if people came looking for him and he wasn’t far enough away yet. However, he didn’t consider the fact that maybe his genius plan would backfire on him and that if his escape didn’t pan out he’d be left with absolutely no supplies and no shelter.

1) Q. Who was more of an influence in your writing career, Mom or Dad? A. For The Hunger Games Series, my biggest influence was my dad with all of the war knowledge, but for when I was writing for Nickelodeon my mom really influenced the sweet part of life. 2)

Seventy percent of the kids follow their parents footsteps. They end up committing crimes at some point in their lives. Its five times more likely that they will commit a crime than everyone else. When children are around when parents are taken away is harder for them.

“The girl was running. Running for her life, in the hope of finding a safe haven for her and her family. She never looks back, the only indication her father was still behind her was his ragged breathing above her head, forming puffs of air in this cold morning. She suddenly stumbles on a root, but her mother secures her fall with a small wisp of air. They lock hands, all three of them, and continue pushing themselves, desperately trying to find the others they lost on the way.