Hello! I thought it was time to get back to my website, Ask Ms Mandi. My latest baby is my book called HER SCARS. Enjoy the excerpt below:
JOURNAL ENTRY – August 7
I’m not sure when I became so brave, but it is as if nothing scares me anymore. The night of August 6th had taken away my innocence, I am no longer a vulnerable fourteen-year old child. A part of me died that night, with him taking my purity from me.
I’d always seen the world and people through rose-colored lenses, subsequently, this is no longer the case. I know most people are bad, but I’ve always refused to believe that they are all bad.
Walking up to the park benches at ten at night, by myself and to a group of stranger boys, my mind is screaming, what is wrong with you. I am normally the introverted, anti-social girl.
“Hey!” I shout out.
“Are you talking to us?” One of the guys asks.
I’m wondering if they are gang-affiliated, by their appearance, with their hats on backwards, long shorts with white Adidas socks to their knees and their black Vans.
The one guy sitting on the right side, edge of the table, catches my eye. He has a mystic about him. I am intrigued. He seems quieter than the rest of his friends and it crosses my mind that he may be studying me, as I am him.
I know my presence baffles them, certainly, what are the odds of a young girl dropping by so late at night, to a park with a reputation for being gang affiliated, being in the rougher part of town. It is rumored that the hard-core gangs, such as, the South Corona Gang, often hang out here; although, this isn’t their territory, but it is said they occasionally drop by.
The tall, heavy-built Mexican stands up, he isn’t fat or anything, just stocky and not so pretty, with a deep scar running from his right ear to the corner of his mouth.
Skeptically, he approaches, obviously trying to intimidate me, but as I walk closer into their scene, his stare falters, realizing I’m not afraid of him.
Cautiously, he looks me up and down from my flip flops to the top of my head. Thinking his words out carefully, he continues.
“Aren’t you a little out of your element? How old are you, sixteen?”
“I’m fourteen.” I state proudly.
“Fourteen? Damn girl, what the hell are you doing out and around these parts of the hood by yourself?”
“I need a favor.” I say, looking him squarely in the eyes.
I’m not sure if it is my imagination, but his eyes seem to soften a bit.
“A favor? What sort of favor?”
The other three guys laugh, except the quiet one, who just shifts his gaze to the ground, almost as if saying he wants nothing to do with any of this.
“I need you to beat the living shit out of this guy for me.”
“And why would you want us to do that?”
I bite down on my lip, too hard, tasting my blood.
“He hurt me, and I want him to pay for what he did!” I stare back, expressionless.
He gestures for me to come over to their table, offering me a beer, which I gladly accept. Don’t judge me. I may only be fourteen years old, but I’ve lived through enough shit to last me a lifetime.
I guzzle my beer, letting out a loud burp, proceeding into the rhythm of my story, starting from the beginning. I tell them everything, holding nothing back.
Copyright: Jayne Wilkinson February 10, 2019
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