Surrender

Two rival gangs clash as one tries to stop the other from destroying their property.

The gangs had been rivals for years.  Each group felt they owned the neighborhood.  They fought over every building, park bench and blade of grass.

Bizzy and Ting were to be initiated into The Ravenclaws at the tender age of twelve.  Their challenge wasn’t much of a challenge.  They’d been lying, cheating and stealing since they were toddlers.

“So’s all we gotta do is get into The Stalkers’ Den and spray their walls?”  Bizzy snickered at the simplistic thought.

Ting grinned.  “Anything you want in particular?”  He paused.  “I don’t spell too good.”

The Ravenclaw members laughed.

Gray crouched in the shadows beneath the dirty warehouse window.  He couldn’t wait to tell Nando about the plan.  The man slunk down the alleyway dodging oily puddles and a few homeless bums.

“Slow down!  Slow down!”  Nando screamed at his cousin.  “Tell me again.”

Gray tried to catch his breath.  “The Ravenclaws are sending a couple of snot-nosed kids here tonight to The Stalkers’ Den to, umm, redecorate.  I saw the spray paint.”

“We’ll be prepared.”  Nando picked up an old wooden bat and thumped it against his palm.

Each member converged upon the abandoned frame home they’d dubbed ‘The Den’ to hash out a scheme.

“They’ll be here any minute.”  Gray clung to the top branches of a nearby tree.

Bizzy and Ting sneaked onto the brittle grass laid out before The Den.  Bizzy shushed Ting and Ting shushed Bizzy at the grass crunched beneath their sneakers.  Each carried bags filled with spray paint cans.

“Let’s leave our mark on the walls of the porch first then go inside.”  Bizzy nodded and pulled a can of red paint from his bag.

Ting looked up.  “What was that?”  He’d never admit it but he was more than a little nervous.

“Just a dumb bird in a tree.”  Bizzy shrugged as he pointed the can’s nozzle toward a crumbling cream-colored wall.

Placing his bag on the wooden steps, Ting bent to select a can; a whirring buzz passed next to his left ear.

Bizzy shrieked.  A pocket knife was embedded into the back of his knee.  He writhed in agony.

Ting wrapped his arms around his friend and dragged him into the street.

“Gotta get out of here.”  Bizzy hissed between clinched teeth.  “Ma’s gonna kill me if she finds out about this.”

Adjusting his buddy’s weight onto his left hip, Ting helped the injured boy three steps forward when the bullet hit.

Bizzy screamed, the sound filling the night yet Ting heard nothing but his own blood pounding in his ears.

Ripping off his stained white t-shirt, Ting waved it into the night.  “We surrender!” he screamed.  Looking into his best friend’s sightless eyes he arose from his knees, continuing to wave the makeshift white flag.  “I surrender!”

He stood in silence; utter complete, eerie silence.  Then, without warning, bullets ripped through his torso, over and over and over again.

Author's Note

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