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The cops are right behind me, the street lights 

show the reflection of water from the earlier 

rain and the flashing lights of the police car. I 

knew drugs were not the right choice but it 

relieved my stress from my mother’s death 

and my brother and his street troubles. “Get 

Down.”one of the officers says. I can’t stop 

though, I gotta get away; I'm running fast, 

though I have long since lost my endurance 

after quitting basketball. Did I say quit? I 

meant kicked off because of a failed druuuu, 

“Ahhhhh!”

My body crumples to the ground and there are knives 

in my back.   It was like the worst cramp I have ever 

had, and it was in all my muscles all over my body. 

The cement is hard and I'm bleeding from the fall. I 

feel my hands forced behind my back and cold steel 

cuffs are put on. “You should not have resisted.” says 

the officer who is tall with broad shoulders. An 

ambulance arrives and I am led onto the back where 

they pull out for pronged metal pieces and checked my 

heart rate to make sure the Taser didn't make my 

heart rate didn't excel the norm.   They wiped the blood 

away from the gash and put a clear disinfectant on it 

and   it sizzled and burned for a few minutes.

I was led to the hospital where I received 15 stitches in the 

side of my head and was diagnosed with a concussion. I woke 

up the next morning in my bed with an ankle bracelet and I 

knew that this was a tracker because my brother had one 

from when he was in trouble. There was a note saying, “Hey 

bro, I picked you up from station last night and your court day 

is tomorrow, and your pills for the pain is on the bedside. 

Don't do any drugs because they test your piss at the court.” 

Oh God, this sucks, why did I end up like this, but I know 

why, who am I kidding. I’m like this because my mother died, 

so I took to drugs, and enjoyed the relief, but then came the 

cops and a police chase.

I took my painkillers and passed out till the next morning 

when I wake up at 10:00. I grab two more painkillers and 

go to the shower. I take hold of my shampoo and put a 

handful in my hair. Walking out, I can see its a beautiful 

day out and it would be nice to be young again playing 

basketball at the park. Those days my worries were only 

that of the sun glaring behind the backboard. I get inside of 

my maroon Ford Truck and put the car in reverse out of 

the driveway. Five minutes later, I pull into the county 

courthouse and see the judge and my parole officer. Its all 

a blur, resisting arrest, in possession of illegal narcotics, 

and after all this, I get a month of community service at a 

local orphanage. My sentence starts tomorrow morning and 

i must get my head right before I start or else this could be 

catastrophic.

I stared up at the orphanage the next day, taking in the old glass windows that 

I would stare out from every day for a month to come after a hard day’s work 

filled with sweat, stress, and nothing to look forward to except for a cold couch 

in the corner of the basement inside the orphanage.   I started to scratch the 

scab that I got from falling earlier and used the pain as an escape from the 

thoughts that circled around in my head.   The police officer behind my back 

grabbed my arms and shoved me through the door to the place that would be 

my prison.

    But I was nervous and was scratching away at the scab and felt a strange 

relief when the scab came off and the blood flowed freely.  

    “Who’s this?” he asked.   I looked up and saw a middle aged guy and a 

teenager.   The teenager was huge, with an even bigger mo-hawk, and had 

earrings and was wearing all black.   For a moment we stared at each-other.  

From my right, the cop with the burly shoulders kicked me pretty hard in the 

ankle.   I winced but didn't’t make any noise as my eyes snapped back 

towards the man in the suit. “Community service, sir.”   He looked over my beat 

up basketball hat, my cut up basketball shirt, and my tattered jeans like he 

couldn’t believe that I would ever do community service by choice, and he was 

right.  

“This kid is involved in drugs and his penalty is a week of hard community service 

to get some good in his head!” exclaimed the officer.   I received another kick and 

this time I grunted in pain.   The dude with the mo-hawk raised his eyebrows, but 

didn't’t say anything and I could tell that he hated the methods that the officer was 

using.

    “I can take him from here,” said the guy in the suit.   He took my arm and I was 

lead into the orphanage, limping because of the brace and my throbbing ankle, and 

because we were so close, I could smell a weird aroma coming from his suit.  

Something that smelled familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.   I was taken into 

what I thought was the sitting room, and was set down on the couch across from 

where the guy in the suit was sitting.  

The next hour was the most boring of my life, and I’d been to some really boring 

places all the way from school, to basketball lectures, to jail.   The man in the suit, 

who’s name was John, and I discussed what I would be doing for the next week.  

Dishes, cleaning, gardening, and hauling things from place to place were only a few 

of everything that I was expected to do.   I could already feel my arms getting 

heavy from all these chores.

    “But,” John said after I thought we were finished, and I was forced to lift my 

head up from my hands, “you look tired and should sleep.   There’s a free room up 

on the top floor.”

    I didn't’t go up right away.   The guy with the mo-hawk showed up just as John 

left.

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