People generally don’t mess with gangs unless they’re in one, but I made an exception today.
All I did was leap between various rooftops as usual, but it seemed like Life had other plans. I ran into a pair of kids that were walking home from school. My little brother Josh takes the bus, so I don’t have to worry about getting him home. My plans were to check up on a friend of mine that hung out at a basketball court several blocks away. I was moving about in my gym clothes, so that meant I was dressed in loosely fitted yoga pants and a tank top. The pants and top were black while the sneakers were mostly white. They were kind of old, but that didn’t matter to me. I’m too broke to buy expensive shoes anyway. Besides, who would I be fooling? I was one of the poor kids of St. Maria, and everyone knew that. After all, St. Maria used to only be for rich kids until the destruction of Haven High. Saint Maria High School for the Exceptionally Gifted was the full name. It should have been named “for the Exceptionally Rich” instead.
For years, there were separate schools for the social classes. However, just as luck would have it, a gang war occurred nearby Haven High. In one particularly nasty battle, the old, crumbling high school was finally destroyed by a bunch of makeshift fire bombs. It was just months before my freshman year. Because of this, my graduating class had to be granted special access to St. Maria until Haven High was repaired into a usable form. When I was a sophomore, the repairs finished, but because of my good grades, I was able to stay via a scholarship of sorts while most of my fellow working class friends went back to Haven High.
Now I’m just running on tangents though. Going back to when I was watching the kids, I examined the both of them. It was two boys about Josh’s age. Considering where I was, it wouldn’t have been a stretch to say that they were also from his school. No rich kid would be roaming about this deep in Downtown Haven. I don’t know why I continued trailing them from above, but I guess my sisterly instincts were kicking in or something. That was when things went sour.
“The fuck are you brats doing here?!”
Within less than a millisecond, I was glaring at a pair of knuckleheads in gang colors. Uh oh. Those were members of the Blood Princes. Individually, their fighting skills were less than superb, but they took advantage of their large numbers. They won turfs through sheer numbers. Ticking off one of them meant having an army sent after you. Awkwardly enough, I didn’t even realize that this block was their turf now. The problem with turf wars is that it’s hard to tell who has what until you see the colors. It’s even worse trying to figure that out when you’re a parkour artist. My only way of knowing is checking the walls I’m bouncing off of, and I’m not about to risk losing momentum just to check for a mark. Generally gangsters don’t tag rooftops. Luckily that also means they rarely check them.
The pair of thugs hounded on the two little boys. They weren’t beating them up yet; they were just shoving them around and taunting them. The kids were scared but were putting on tough faces. I couldn’t really hear what was being stated because I was too pissed off. They reminded me of Josh too much, and I do not let ANYONE hurt my Josh. Not even my scumbag parents. No, especially not my scumbag parents. Let’s not talk about them though, I don’t need to be breaking my pencil. What I did break was the faces of those thugs. How, you ask?
It’s kind of easy when you have a bat, even when it’s ancient.
This time I went for a sneak attack. Since these guys actually had colors on, there was a good chance they were also packing. No one likes getting shot, and I’m not an exception. Me getting shot meant either death or hospital bills. Neither of those choices were appealing. My sneakers silently touched the ground as I climbed down the building. It was easy to quietly scale my way down without anyone noticing. I slipped on my hood as I stood on top of the closed dumpster. Tiptoeing to them allowed me to take the gangsters by surprise. I choked the left guy with the bat as soon as I got behind them. Immediately his friend turned around, but with my quick reaction I was able to turn the thug I was choking into a body shield in case they had guns. I tossed him at the other thug. This was enough to make him stumble. I took further advantage by forcefully shoving him with the bat. Soon the thugs were in a rather compromising position on the pavement. Mercilessly I swung at them. Their heads were my softballs. When I was done, I could clearly see more blood on the chipping wood. I didn’t even turn around as I ran off into the sunset. I wonder if Josh would enjoy these stories.