gadzuks328i
02-22-2008, 08:58 PM
My Los Angeles Street Gang Life
By
Glenn Zuklie
All I can remember is hearing an explosion that sounded like a bomb going off in my bedroom. Before I knew it I was ripped out of my bed and thrown to the floor, flipped over to my back and handcuffed. It all happened so fast. There was so much smoke in the house I could not see what was happening and was coughing from the foul smell of sulpher. The first I thought it may have been the Bloods coming back for revenge but when I heard the yelling I knew it wasn't the bloods. It could have only been the police; they are the ones who yell when they storm into your house. Had it been a rival gang member I would have heard nothing. I was so scared my heart felt as though it was expounding from my chest like an alien being that lived inside of me. I was the first one led out of the house by two LAPD SWAT team members. One of them said to me, "Your ****ed Chino!" Chino was my street name. I could not see the SWAT officers face as he wore a mask to conceal his identity, but I recognized that far too familiar voice. It was Narcotics Sergeant Rivetti. Once outside the embarrassment set in. My mother and grandmother were taken out of our home in handcuffs and sat against the curb in front of out home at 167 22nd street in South Central Los Angeles. I could hear my mother crying "no" she wailed. My grandmother was sobbing and screaming at me in Spanish "usted es no bueno hombre." In Spanish that meant I am a no good grandson.
The police were searching my home, I knew the drill, and all the neighbors had come out of their homes in their pajamas to see what was going on. As I looked around I saw Miss Johnson whom was a church going lady whom we played childhood pranks on for years. She looked at me and shook her fist and said to the police "It's about time you caught that little dealer" I watched as the officers had found my stash of Rock. When I say rock I mean crack cocaine. This is what I sold to my patients when they came to my window in the middle of the night for a fix. I called them my patients because I was their doctor providing them with their medicine. It was how I earned my living; it was the only way to make a living in my family. I don't mean my household family I mean my street family the Crips, or as the bloods called us "The Crabs."
I am a member of one of the most notorious street gangs in South Central Los Angeles, The Rolling 20's. We held the blocks from 20th street to 29th street all the way to Central Avenue. It was our turf, we protected it, sometimes with our lives.
It all started when I was 14 years old. I had seen this big fat guy driving a Lexus in my neighborhood. He always had a wad of cash in his pocket and was wearing fancy clothes, but always had on a blue hat or Jersey to signify his colors. Looking up to his prestige I wondered who he was and how he got to be so rich. One day while standing in front of my house he said to me " Hey lil man, you wanna earn?" I said "Earn what?" he replied "Bling" and showed me a handful of cash. His name was J-Rock or at least that was what I had known him as. His headstone reads Michael Simmons. J-Rock took me in to do a simple errand of delivering a package to a 5 story housing block up on 23rd street. I had carried the backpack with the unknown contents to the block and waited for the apartment door on the second floor to open. I dropped the backpack and ran, not even seeing a face in the apartment. When I made it back to J-Rock he was smoking a blunt.
He referred to me as "Chino"
"Chino, come here and get some" I walked over to J-Rock and he threw me five twenty dollar bills. J-rock was leaning against a five story brick building that was a housing project for poor people on welfare. There were empty plastic bags and needles scattered on the ground and the area smelled like rotten meat. Looking around at the windows with all the bars on them I realized this had been my first real drug deal. Since then I have become my own entrepreneur in business and started selling on my own. J-Rock had me join his family on my 15th birthday. I was jumped in. That meant that 5 other gang members would give me love, basically beat me down to show me their love and acceptance into the family. I was now one of them. J-Rock stood in back blowing smoke rings through his mouth while this took place. After I had picked myself up off the ground J-Rock tossed me a beaded necklace that was yellow and blue, our colors.
"Chino, you kiss those beads every night and wear them proud, your one of us now"
I hugged J-Rock and the rest of my new family and shared a 40 ounce of beer with them and a blunt. J-Rock shared with me the secrets of our family and told me never to repeat them to anyone. They entailed the inner works of our drug ring as well as our hit squad. We were organized like the mob, or so we thought. Over the next few years we engaged in countless deals and made some big scores and had some big losses. We lost some of our family due to gunfire or drive by shootings over bad deals or turf wars but we always retaliated and took some of the bloods out ourselves. We were tough, we had pride, and no one was gonna **** with our block.
I had been arrested at least a dozen times. The most important thing in my neighborhood was honor to your family. Never rat on a fellow gang member and don't tell the cops ****. Silence was our way to never divulge our actions or the inner working of our organization.
Sitting on the ground handcuffed I could only imagine what was going to happen to me. My life was flashing before me so fast but also in slow motion. Sergeant Rivetti frisked me and pushed me into the back of his police car. I hit my head on the door frame as he exclaimed "Get in you little maggot." The whole ride to the police station Rivetti was taunting me. "You're going away Chino and this time for 20 years"
"**** you pig, you aint got nothing on me, I'm gonna sue your white ***." Stuck to the backseat handcuffed and seat belted in all I could do was yell.
"Guess what Chino? I get paid to put **** bags like you in jail. When I'm on vacation with my family next year I will be thinking of you getting ****ed up the *** by some big black inmate." Rivetti was pulling into police headquarters to drop me off for processing.
I just spat at the window divider between us "**** you!"
I was led inside by a booking officer and that was the last I saw of Sergeant Rivetti, until court.
The news cameras were waiting for me at court. This was not my first arrest, so I just looked to the reporters and smirked. Once in the courtroom I was wearing a County Jail Orange jumpsuit and handcuffed, and my feet shackled together. The courtroom was stained and smelled of mold from the dirty carpets from all the people the judge had seen before me. I sat down with my unprepared free court appointed public defender. I stayed hard and true to my street family not telling anyone anything, it was my right as the police had told me, to be silent. I refused to testify or make any comment regarding my case. The prosecutor presented his case and made me look like the most notorious gangster since Al Capone. The judge decided my case within 30 minutes and handed me down a 7 year sentence without the eligibility for parole. I thought no big deal and the public defender Mike I think his name was said, he would appeal my case and that I would get a stay of execution to be out of jail on bail, but he never helped me.
I now wear the number #253421 that is my inmate number at Orange County prison. I remember the first day and how scared I was. As I was led out of the transportation wagon I was brought into a cell where I was told to strip down naked and was inspected by a male guard to see if I was carrying anything illegal. I was then handed a yellow bar of soap and instructed to clean myself while he watched. It was embarrassing and the soap smelled like dead rotten fish mixed with the strong smell of a skunk. Later I was told the soap was for delousing, had I had lice?
I was then given a white towel that smelled heavily of bleach. Another prison guard handed me two pair of khaki scrub type pants, two khaki shirts, 1 bar of ivory soap, an old looking torn towel, a top and bottom white sheet, and one wool blanket that was as thin as a piece of paper. I was led down a corridor hearing whistling yelling and chanting as I entered the cell block. There voices were so loud and it felt as though they were surrounding me. I could only see there faces through a bean hole window in their cells. I kept looking down at my issued belongings and kept walking with the two male guards who were making jokes at me. "Hey little papi, the boys are gonna like you here" the taller guard with the mustache said.
"Yeah, he will be the bean in the rice and beans" the shorter guard with the round belly exclaimed while he laughed.
I could hear voices around me yelling: "new meat", "isn't he a cute one", cat call whistles, and anti Hispanic slang words.
I was put into a single inmate cell that was about 8 foot by 8 foot in size and told to turn away from the door and place my hands on the wall. I closed my eyes and heard a loud crash. I knew what the sound was; it was the cell door slamming shut. The door closed and it hit me, I was in prison. Not only was I a prisoner in this prison but I was a prisoner in my own mind. I did not have the protection from my family here and any encounters with other inmates could be dangerous. I knew there was a price on my head. I can see J-Rock in my mind telling me before he was shot and killed in front of the 7-11 on Webster Avenue, that I was worth more dead than alive because I had shot Little C, 2 years earlier. I turned and looked at the room that I would live in for the next 7 years, the next 2555 days, the next 61,320 hours, the next 3,679,200 minutes, and I began to cry. I cried because I partly because I was scared, partly because I was alone, and partly because I didn't know what else to do.
Standing in my cinder block cage I felt the room, it was cold not only in temperature but also in appearance. There was only a combination stainless steel toilet and sink, an old steel bunk with the flat hard mattress, the window with a view of some razor wire and a rooftop compressor. At that moment I felt as if a part of whom I had been, and who I would have become had died. The room was damp, although for some reason I was sweating.
The clothes they issued me were size extra large; I am 5 foot 9 inches 145lbs, too thin for the clothes. I looked like a circus clown wearing a tent. I made my bed and climbed into it. My stomach was rumbling, partly from nerves but mostly because I hadn't eaten in two days. I could hear sounds of yelling from other inmates from cell to cell and heard tapping on the walls. I felt like a caged animal. Thinking to myself I thought was this what I had become?
I lay in that uncomfortable bed and stared at the ceiling until I heard a loud click and all the lights went out in our rooms. There was a dim light coming from the 1 foot by 1 foot window in my cell and every so often I would hear a tap on the door and look up to see the guard doing his head count. I couldn't see their faces, I could only hear their footsteps and see the beam of light from their flashlight enter my room like the sun was rising. I couldn't sleep and was awakened by the sound of my cell door opening. I heard someone yell "roll call!" I was not sure what this meant, so I peaked out my cell and there were about 50 inmates lining up outside their doors waiting in line. I decided to join them, although not looking at any of them in fearing they would smell my vulnerability. I heard a voice call out "Chino", I turned around and to my surprise it was Victor Carnacio, a Blood and a rival gang member. Victor was from the Central City Bloods and had been convicted last year for throwing an elderly woman down a staircase at a housing project, killing her. Victor was a feared man on the streets. He was only 20 years old but had developed a bad *** reputation. Looking back at Victor I had to act tough, so I looked at him hard
"Yeah", I replied.
Victor grabbed his balls "Your gonna be my ***** Chino"
I turned around and clenched my fist "**** you Victor, just try it!"
A Prison guard yelled and ordered me to face forward, as I turned I heard Victor whisper "Usted es muerte " which means you're a dead man in Spanish.
I kept walking with the group as we were led to the mess hall. I stayed in line and took what portions they gave me of whatever there was. My mind was numb, I was so hungry but I didn't even know what was on my plate. The food smelled rotten and all I could hear was people arguing around me and the clanging of metal trays against the cold steel tables. I felt alone and was scared although I couldn't let anyone see my fear or I would be dead for sure. I sat down by myself and two white males with shaved heads and swastika tattoos sat down next to me. One of the males that was about 6 foot two and 225 lbs with a goat-tee and a build like Arnold Schwarzenegger looked to me.
"Drag your *** spic, this is our table." I stood up, didn't say a word and walked down the mess hall to where I saw a table in the back that was empty. If that happened on the street things would have been handled differently. In here I had no other choice but to run away. I sat down and tried to eat, although everything tasted so bland. I didn't look up at anyone although I could hear people talking about me and felt their eyes staring at me.
As a group we were all ordered to the showers and I had grabbed my ripped bleached towel and my Ivory soap and walked into the shower. There was a guard at the door surrounding 15 shower heads in a concrete room. I waited in line until it was my turn to go in. I was ordered into the shower as another prisoner exited. The water was so cold, and the soap was burning my eyes. The next thing I remember was hearing Victor's raspy voice say "muerte", I felt this burning sensation in my back and a warm liquid dripping from my side. It burned so bad and my eyes began to cloud. As I looked to the ground all I could see was the red shower water. I began to realize that I had been stabbed. I felt my body begin to fall to the floor and my face smashed against the shower valve busting out some of my teeth. I lay on the ground and looked up to see Victor smiling and he was holding a home made knife made out of a plastic comb. Victor pointed the comb at me and mouthed "That's for little-C." I couldn't move, I couldn't talk, I couldn't hear I couldn't catch my breath, My eyes began to flutter as the blood poured out of my side like a stuck pig. I saw my 1st grade class, I saw my first girlfriend, and I saw my grandmother, all flashes in slow motion before my eyes. I was now in an empty room looking down at a coffin. I could see the body inside the coffin but the face was blurry, was I dead?
I looked again at the coffin and could not believe my eyes. The face inside started to clear as though the smoke cloud surrounding the blur was dissipating. I felt a shocking tingling sensation go though me as I saw myself lying in that coffin. I was dead, how could I be dead I am only 20 years old. My grandmother was weeping and holding the sides of the casket although I couldn't hear her. My mother placed a rose along side of my body. Still trying to come to grips with what I was seeing I tried to call to them, but I could not speak. Suddenly I began to feel weightlessness almost like an astronaut would fee in space. I felt myself start to rise from the room, first upstairs, then through the attic, and then the roof top. I was now floating up towards the midnight blue sky. I tried to reach to hold onto something, I did not want to go. I was scared, but also felt a sense of comfort. My mind was telling me to hold on, but I couldn't. As I continued my accent into the sky my surroundings became father and father away. My sight began to darken as my soul faded away towards what was above.
"What the ****, where am I" my eyes opened and I was restrained in a hospital bed.
"He's awake, page the doctor stat" the nurse exclaimed.
"Where am I, Let me go" my hands and legs had shackles on them and I couldn't get up. I felt this pain in my back and side that ached.
"I am your nurse Linda" I heard and looked up to see a white female nurse wearing a surgery gown. "You're going to be alright, but you have to relax".
"What happened, where am I, am I dead" I could see bright lights and there was a sour smell in the air like vomit.
"You were stabbed while in prison and rushed here to North Memorial Hospital for immediate surgery." Linda was wiping my head with a cool washcloth.
"I hurt so bad, I'm confused, am I dead" still looking around at my surroundings I saw a large lamp, a bedside table with many surgical instruments on it, and a large curtain around me.
"You will be alright now, just relax. We operated on your wound to stabilize you. When you came to us you had lost 45 percent of your blood. You are a lucky guy".
My eyes began to clear even more and I saw a prison guard standing behind the curtain as the doctor entered.
"I'm doctor Rothstein and will be taking care of you until your better."
"Where do I go when I am better" feeling unsure of my future.
"Back to prison" the guard popped his head in and smiled. "We have to keep you around to finish off the rest of that seven year sentence. Don't worry though you will be in solitary confinement, for your own protection."
I didn't know what to say, I didn't know what to do. Everything was starting to rush through my mind all at once, was I better off dead, will I be able to walk, will I need more surgery, and how am I going to survive the next seven years? I was cold, depressed, scared, and felt so alone. All these questions were running through my mind like a race horse galloping for the finish line. I just layed there until Dr Rothenstein gave me a shot of pain medication and I drifted off to sleep.
By
Glenn Zuklie
All I can remember is hearing an explosion that sounded like a bomb going off in my bedroom. Before I knew it I was ripped out of my bed and thrown to the floor, flipped over to my back and handcuffed. It all happened so fast. There was so much smoke in the house I could not see what was happening and was coughing from the foul smell of sulpher. The first I thought it may have been the Bloods coming back for revenge but when I heard the yelling I knew it wasn't the bloods. It could have only been the police; they are the ones who yell when they storm into your house. Had it been a rival gang member I would have heard nothing. I was so scared my heart felt as though it was expounding from my chest like an alien being that lived inside of me. I was the first one led out of the house by two LAPD SWAT team members. One of them said to me, "Your ****ed Chino!" Chino was my street name. I could not see the SWAT officers face as he wore a mask to conceal his identity, but I recognized that far too familiar voice. It was Narcotics Sergeant Rivetti. Once outside the embarrassment set in. My mother and grandmother were taken out of our home in handcuffs and sat against the curb in front of out home at 167 22nd street in South Central Los Angeles. I could hear my mother crying "no" she wailed. My grandmother was sobbing and screaming at me in Spanish "usted es no bueno hombre." In Spanish that meant I am a no good grandson.
The police were searching my home, I knew the drill, and all the neighbors had come out of their homes in their pajamas to see what was going on. As I looked around I saw Miss Johnson whom was a church going lady whom we played childhood pranks on for years. She looked at me and shook her fist and said to the police "It's about time you caught that little dealer" I watched as the officers had found my stash of Rock. When I say rock I mean crack cocaine. This is what I sold to my patients when they came to my window in the middle of the night for a fix. I called them my patients because I was their doctor providing them with their medicine. It was how I earned my living; it was the only way to make a living in my family. I don't mean my household family I mean my street family the Crips, or as the bloods called us "The Crabs."
I am a member of one of the most notorious street gangs in South Central Los Angeles, The Rolling 20's. We held the blocks from 20th street to 29th street all the way to Central Avenue. It was our turf, we protected it, sometimes with our lives.
It all started when I was 14 years old. I had seen this big fat guy driving a Lexus in my neighborhood. He always had a wad of cash in his pocket and was wearing fancy clothes, but always had on a blue hat or Jersey to signify his colors. Looking up to his prestige I wondered who he was and how he got to be so rich. One day while standing in front of my house he said to me " Hey lil man, you wanna earn?" I said "Earn what?" he replied "Bling" and showed me a handful of cash. His name was J-Rock or at least that was what I had known him as. His headstone reads Michael Simmons. J-Rock took me in to do a simple errand of delivering a package to a 5 story housing block up on 23rd street. I had carried the backpack with the unknown contents to the block and waited for the apartment door on the second floor to open. I dropped the backpack and ran, not even seeing a face in the apartment. When I made it back to J-Rock he was smoking a blunt.
He referred to me as "Chino"
"Chino, come here and get some" I walked over to J-Rock and he threw me five twenty dollar bills. J-rock was leaning against a five story brick building that was a housing project for poor people on welfare. There were empty plastic bags and needles scattered on the ground and the area smelled like rotten meat. Looking around at the windows with all the bars on them I realized this had been my first real drug deal. Since then I have become my own entrepreneur in business and started selling on my own. J-Rock had me join his family on my 15th birthday. I was jumped in. That meant that 5 other gang members would give me love, basically beat me down to show me their love and acceptance into the family. I was now one of them. J-Rock stood in back blowing smoke rings through his mouth while this took place. After I had picked myself up off the ground J-Rock tossed me a beaded necklace that was yellow and blue, our colors.
"Chino, you kiss those beads every night and wear them proud, your one of us now"
I hugged J-Rock and the rest of my new family and shared a 40 ounce of beer with them and a blunt. J-Rock shared with me the secrets of our family and told me never to repeat them to anyone. They entailed the inner works of our drug ring as well as our hit squad. We were organized like the mob, or so we thought. Over the next few years we engaged in countless deals and made some big scores and had some big losses. We lost some of our family due to gunfire or drive by shootings over bad deals or turf wars but we always retaliated and took some of the bloods out ourselves. We were tough, we had pride, and no one was gonna **** with our block.
I had been arrested at least a dozen times. The most important thing in my neighborhood was honor to your family. Never rat on a fellow gang member and don't tell the cops ****. Silence was our way to never divulge our actions or the inner working of our organization.
Sitting on the ground handcuffed I could only imagine what was going to happen to me. My life was flashing before me so fast but also in slow motion. Sergeant Rivetti frisked me and pushed me into the back of his police car. I hit my head on the door frame as he exclaimed "Get in you little maggot." The whole ride to the police station Rivetti was taunting me. "You're going away Chino and this time for 20 years"
"**** you pig, you aint got nothing on me, I'm gonna sue your white ***." Stuck to the backseat handcuffed and seat belted in all I could do was yell.
"Guess what Chino? I get paid to put **** bags like you in jail. When I'm on vacation with my family next year I will be thinking of you getting ****ed up the *** by some big black inmate." Rivetti was pulling into police headquarters to drop me off for processing.
I just spat at the window divider between us "**** you!"
I was led inside by a booking officer and that was the last I saw of Sergeant Rivetti, until court.
The news cameras were waiting for me at court. This was not my first arrest, so I just looked to the reporters and smirked. Once in the courtroom I was wearing a County Jail Orange jumpsuit and handcuffed, and my feet shackled together. The courtroom was stained and smelled of mold from the dirty carpets from all the people the judge had seen before me. I sat down with my unprepared free court appointed public defender. I stayed hard and true to my street family not telling anyone anything, it was my right as the police had told me, to be silent. I refused to testify or make any comment regarding my case. The prosecutor presented his case and made me look like the most notorious gangster since Al Capone. The judge decided my case within 30 minutes and handed me down a 7 year sentence without the eligibility for parole. I thought no big deal and the public defender Mike I think his name was said, he would appeal my case and that I would get a stay of execution to be out of jail on bail, but he never helped me.
I now wear the number #253421 that is my inmate number at Orange County prison. I remember the first day and how scared I was. As I was led out of the transportation wagon I was brought into a cell where I was told to strip down naked and was inspected by a male guard to see if I was carrying anything illegal. I was then handed a yellow bar of soap and instructed to clean myself while he watched. It was embarrassing and the soap smelled like dead rotten fish mixed with the strong smell of a skunk. Later I was told the soap was for delousing, had I had lice?
I was then given a white towel that smelled heavily of bleach. Another prison guard handed me two pair of khaki scrub type pants, two khaki shirts, 1 bar of ivory soap, an old looking torn towel, a top and bottom white sheet, and one wool blanket that was as thin as a piece of paper. I was led down a corridor hearing whistling yelling and chanting as I entered the cell block. There voices were so loud and it felt as though they were surrounding me. I could only see there faces through a bean hole window in their cells. I kept looking down at my issued belongings and kept walking with the two male guards who were making jokes at me. "Hey little papi, the boys are gonna like you here" the taller guard with the mustache said.
"Yeah, he will be the bean in the rice and beans" the shorter guard with the round belly exclaimed while he laughed.
I could hear voices around me yelling: "new meat", "isn't he a cute one", cat call whistles, and anti Hispanic slang words.
I was put into a single inmate cell that was about 8 foot by 8 foot in size and told to turn away from the door and place my hands on the wall. I closed my eyes and heard a loud crash. I knew what the sound was; it was the cell door slamming shut. The door closed and it hit me, I was in prison. Not only was I a prisoner in this prison but I was a prisoner in my own mind. I did not have the protection from my family here and any encounters with other inmates could be dangerous. I knew there was a price on my head. I can see J-Rock in my mind telling me before he was shot and killed in front of the 7-11 on Webster Avenue, that I was worth more dead than alive because I had shot Little C, 2 years earlier. I turned and looked at the room that I would live in for the next 7 years, the next 2555 days, the next 61,320 hours, the next 3,679,200 minutes, and I began to cry. I cried because I partly because I was scared, partly because I was alone, and partly because I didn't know what else to do.
Standing in my cinder block cage I felt the room, it was cold not only in temperature but also in appearance. There was only a combination stainless steel toilet and sink, an old steel bunk with the flat hard mattress, the window with a view of some razor wire and a rooftop compressor. At that moment I felt as if a part of whom I had been, and who I would have become had died. The room was damp, although for some reason I was sweating.
The clothes they issued me were size extra large; I am 5 foot 9 inches 145lbs, too thin for the clothes. I looked like a circus clown wearing a tent. I made my bed and climbed into it. My stomach was rumbling, partly from nerves but mostly because I hadn't eaten in two days. I could hear sounds of yelling from other inmates from cell to cell and heard tapping on the walls. I felt like a caged animal. Thinking to myself I thought was this what I had become?
I lay in that uncomfortable bed and stared at the ceiling until I heard a loud click and all the lights went out in our rooms. There was a dim light coming from the 1 foot by 1 foot window in my cell and every so often I would hear a tap on the door and look up to see the guard doing his head count. I couldn't see their faces, I could only hear their footsteps and see the beam of light from their flashlight enter my room like the sun was rising. I couldn't sleep and was awakened by the sound of my cell door opening. I heard someone yell "roll call!" I was not sure what this meant, so I peaked out my cell and there were about 50 inmates lining up outside their doors waiting in line. I decided to join them, although not looking at any of them in fearing they would smell my vulnerability. I heard a voice call out "Chino", I turned around and to my surprise it was Victor Carnacio, a Blood and a rival gang member. Victor was from the Central City Bloods and had been convicted last year for throwing an elderly woman down a staircase at a housing project, killing her. Victor was a feared man on the streets. He was only 20 years old but had developed a bad *** reputation. Looking back at Victor I had to act tough, so I looked at him hard
"Yeah", I replied.
Victor grabbed his balls "Your gonna be my ***** Chino"
I turned around and clenched my fist "**** you Victor, just try it!"
A Prison guard yelled and ordered me to face forward, as I turned I heard Victor whisper "Usted es muerte " which means you're a dead man in Spanish.
I kept walking with the group as we were led to the mess hall. I stayed in line and took what portions they gave me of whatever there was. My mind was numb, I was so hungry but I didn't even know what was on my plate. The food smelled rotten and all I could hear was people arguing around me and the clanging of metal trays against the cold steel tables. I felt alone and was scared although I couldn't let anyone see my fear or I would be dead for sure. I sat down by myself and two white males with shaved heads and swastika tattoos sat down next to me. One of the males that was about 6 foot two and 225 lbs with a goat-tee and a build like Arnold Schwarzenegger looked to me.
"Drag your *** spic, this is our table." I stood up, didn't say a word and walked down the mess hall to where I saw a table in the back that was empty. If that happened on the street things would have been handled differently. In here I had no other choice but to run away. I sat down and tried to eat, although everything tasted so bland. I didn't look up at anyone although I could hear people talking about me and felt their eyes staring at me.
As a group we were all ordered to the showers and I had grabbed my ripped bleached towel and my Ivory soap and walked into the shower. There was a guard at the door surrounding 15 shower heads in a concrete room. I waited in line until it was my turn to go in. I was ordered into the shower as another prisoner exited. The water was so cold, and the soap was burning my eyes. The next thing I remember was hearing Victor's raspy voice say "muerte", I felt this burning sensation in my back and a warm liquid dripping from my side. It burned so bad and my eyes began to cloud. As I looked to the ground all I could see was the red shower water. I began to realize that I had been stabbed. I felt my body begin to fall to the floor and my face smashed against the shower valve busting out some of my teeth. I lay on the ground and looked up to see Victor smiling and he was holding a home made knife made out of a plastic comb. Victor pointed the comb at me and mouthed "That's for little-C." I couldn't move, I couldn't talk, I couldn't hear I couldn't catch my breath, My eyes began to flutter as the blood poured out of my side like a stuck pig. I saw my 1st grade class, I saw my first girlfriend, and I saw my grandmother, all flashes in slow motion before my eyes. I was now in an empty room looking down at a coffin. I could see the body inside the coffin but the face was blurry, was I dead?
I looked again at the coffin and could not believe my eyes. The face inside started to clear as though the smoke cloud surrounding the blur was dissipating. I felt a shocking tingling sensation go though me as I saw myself lying in that coffin. I was dead, how could I be dead I am only 20 years old. My grandmother was weeping and holding the sides of the casket although I couldn't hear her. My mother placed a rose along side of my body. Still trying to come to grips with what I was seeing I tried to call to them, but I could not speak. Suddenly I began to feel weightlessness almost like an astronaut would fee in space. I felt myself start to rise from the room, first upstairs, then through the attic, and then the roof top. I was now floating up towards the midnight blue sky. I tried to reach to hold onto something, I did not want to go. I was scared, but also felt a sense of comfort. My mind was telling me to hold on, but I couldn't. As I continued my accent into the sky my surroundings became father and father away. My sight began to darken as my soul faded away towards what was above.
"What the ****, where am I" my eyes opened and I was restrained in a hospital bed.
"He's awake, page the doctor stat" the nurse exclaimed.
"Where am I, Let me go" my hands and legs had shackles on them and I couldn't get up. I felt this pain in my back and side that ached.
"I am your nurse Linda" I heard and looked up to see a white female nurse wearing a surgery gown. "You're going to be alright, but you have to relax".
"What happened, where am I, am I dead" I could see bright lights and there was a sour smell in the air like vomit.
"You were stabbed while in prison and rushed here to North Memorial Hospital for immediate surgery." Linda was wiping my head with a cool washcloth.
"I hurt so bad, I'm confused, am I dead" still looking around at my surroundings I saw a large lamp, a bedside table with many surgical instruments on it, and a large curtain around me.
"You will be alright now, just relax. We operated on your wound to stabilize you. When you came to us you had lost 45 percent of your blood. You are a lucky guy".
My eyes began to clear even more and I saw a prison guard standing behind the curtain as the doctor entered.
"I'm doctor Rothstein and will be taking care of you until your better."
"Where do I go when I am better" feeling unsure of my future.
"Back to prison" the guard popped his head in and smiled. "We have to keep you around to finish off the rest of that seven year sentence. Don't worry though you will be in solitary confinement, for your own protection."
I didn't know what to say, I didn't know what to do. Everything was starting to rush through my mind all at once, was I better off dead, will I be able to walk, will I need more surgery, and how am I going to survive the next seven years? I was cold, depressed, scared, and felt so alone. All these questions were running through my mind like a race horse galloping for the finish line. I just layed there until Dr Rothenstein gave me a shot of pain medication and I drifted off to sleep.