-EXODUS-

I never felt more safe than when I was in the backseat with my family.

Dad had this habit of hummin' to whatever old track was playin', beatin' the wheel like it was a drum. He had that voice like velvet and gravel, smooth, but with pain buried somewhere deep.

Mom kept tellin' him to watch the road. She said it like a joke, like she ain't really worried, but I could tell, she always half-watchin' everything. The world don't let Black moms relax. Especially when they ridin' with their man and their babies.

My big sister Simone had her legs up, headphones in one ear, phone in the other. Pretty little thang. She was textin' some dude, I think. Every now and then she'd smirk, like he said something funny, and I'd tease her under my breath just loud enough for her to notice.

She'd roll her eyes and say, "Boy, don't be jealous."

I didn't say nothin'. Just smiled. That was home. That was us. Loud. Alive. Lovin'. Real.

Then the red and blue showed up in the rearview, and everything changed.

Dad's voice dropped. "Damn..."

I sat up straighter.I just had the worst feeling in the world for real.

"Don't say nothin', James," Mom said, low and sharp, like she already knew this could go bad. Mothers had intuition. I knew this. So it struck me harder when she said it.

"I ain't gon' say nothin'. I know the drill." Dad's hands gripped the wheel tighter making sure his hands were visible.

The car slowed. Heartbeats got loud.

The two cops walked up slow like they was walkin' into enemy territory. One on Mom's side, the other to Dad.

Knuckles pale on holsters like they were just itchin' to use 'em.

"License and registration," one said. No good evening, no reason why. Just command.

Dad kept it calm. "It's in the glove box, sir. My wife gon' reach, "

"Don't move!"

I flinched. Mom froze. Dad sighed aloud.

She said, "We're cooperating. Do you want it or not?"

Other cop already got his hand on the gun. "Step out the car. Both of y'all. We have to do a drug test and a search of the car please. We got a call about a vehicle of your type smuggling drugs"

"For what? We don't do drugs" Simone asked, voice shaky.

"Out the car!" they barked.

Dad opened the door slow, showing his hands. "Alright. Calm down Officer. I'm gettin' out."

I was lookin' dead at him. He gave me that look like, stay calm, son, the look Black fathers pass down from trauma they never talked about.

Shouts, hesitation, confusion then,

Gunshot.

I didn't even see who pulled the trigger. Just saw Dad jerk, knees buckle, and blood... God, so much blood.

He hit the ground like deadweight. Then they tackled him, placing him in handcuffs.

"James!" Mom screamed. She scrambled out, diving over towards him.

"Get out of the way!"

Another cop grabbed her by the waist and slammed her to the concrete like she wasn't a mother, like she wasn't a person. Just another Black body.

"Mom!" I jumped out, feet slipping, heart punchin' through my chest. When I heard it, another round, along with the words:" Stop Resisting!"

Then she wasn't movin'.

Her eyes were open, staring at the sky. Wide. Confused. She wasn't blinking.

Blood started to pool.

I reached her, dropped to my knees. "No, no, please... please wake up. Ma..."

I shook her, grabbed her face with my little hands like I could fix her. Like love could undo a bullet.

Then I heard Simone scream. I turned and saw her fighting the cop in the backseat. He was on her like she was a grown man, not a seventeen-year-old girl in ripped jeans and braids.

She bit him. Fought like hell.

And then,

Another shot.

She slumped out the door. Half in, half out.

I slid next to her, pulling her into my lap. "Simone, Simone, talk to me!"

She was cryin' but fading on me fast. She spoke through half closed eye-lids. "Joseph... you gotta go. You gotta, "

"I'm not leaving you! I'm not, "

"Run."

Then she passed out. Still breathing, but barely.

I ran. I didn't know what else to do. I wasn't sure why it ran passed my mind at that age, but I knew they didn't want any witnesses. Just as I did, more sirens. All chase stopped. The sirens came late. Too late. And the cops? They just stood there like statues. Like they didn't just destroy a whole family.

Like we was never real.

I was seven. I couldn't save nobody.

They said it was justified. Said it was self defence. Said there was a weapon and drugs.They pressed resistance.

But I was there.

I saw Dad's hands in the air.

I saw the blood drip down Mom's temple.

I saw Simone scream her soul out.

I remember wakin' up in that hospital room.

White walls. Fluorescent lights. Machines beeping like it was just another Tuesday.

But my whole world had stopped.

No more Mom's hand on my chest when I had nightmares. No more Dad's voice sayin', "We gon' be alright." No more Simone crackin' jokes 'cause she didn't know how to deal with emotions for real.

I asked the nurse where my sister was. She said, "She's stable."

Then she added, "But... she doesn't remember anything."

That hit harder than the bullets.

She didn't know me. I walked into her room, and she looked at me like a stranger. Like I was part of a dream she couldn't name.

I didn't even cry. My tears dried up the night Mom hit the ground.

Three days later, some social worker named Ms. Carla rolled up with a clipboard and a look that said she'd seen too many kids like me.

She knelt down like we was in a damn movie.

"Joseph... sweetie, we're gonna find you a good home, alright?"

I just looked at her. They always talk like that. Like they rehearsed it.

I didn't believe none of it.

First home was Ms. Green.

She had ten of us packed in one raggedy house like we was puppies to feed and flip. She smiled a lot, only when people was watchin'. Behind closed doors, it was different. She locked the fridge at night, hit kids with wooden spoons, and called us names like we wasn't human. One boy cried too much after lights out. He disappeared the next day. Nobody asked where he went. I learned real quick: stay quiet. Watch everything. Keep your hoodie on.

Next was the Jacksons.

Satanic folks. Always tellin' me, "The devil got a plan for you." But they didn't like that I didn't talk much. Said I had a "bad demon." Like satan was any better. Mr. Jackson punched me once for not giving satan thanks. I didn't cry.I just stared at him with dead eyes while the rest of the table kept chewin' like it didn't even happen.

I got passed around like a bag nobody wanted.

Some places was loud with fightin'. Some was quiet with cold shoulders and hungry nights.

Sometimes, the other kids was worse than the adults. Bullies with broken hearts. I fought only when I had to, but when I did, I made 'em remember me.

One home had a locked basement. I didn't stay long there.

Not after I heard the girl cryin' downstairs.

Nobody ever really asked how I was doin'.

They just asked if I was "adjusting."

I learned to lie. Smile small. Say "yes, ma'am."

I kept my head low. Hands in pockets. Hoodie up. Stay invisible.

But I was watchin'.

Every damn thing.

The thing about bein' passed around is you stop tryin' to unpack.

You don't get attached. Don't decorate nothin'. You learn how to leave fast.

But in the middle of all that mess, some nights, when the world got too quiet, I'd close my eyes and try to remember the sound of Ma's laugh. Or how Dad used to hum when he cooked. Or Simone's voice sayin', "Joey, you gon' be somethin' big one day."

And sometimes... I'd believe her.

Just for a minute.

By the time I turned fifteen, I didn't believe in love no more.

Or family.

Or justice.

Just survival.

But deep down? That fire was still burnin'.

I didn't know how, or when, or what, but one day, somebody was gon' answer for what they did to us.

One day, somebody was gon' bleed for my silence.

I was fifteen when I got jumped into the gang. But I didn't do it for stripes. I did it 'cause that day... I just didn't care no more.

That foster house was hell. It always was, but that day? Man...

I came home from school with a busted backpack and a stomach that wouldn't stop growlin'. The grown son of the lady I was stayin' with had his feet up on the table, talkin' trash at the TV, tellin' me to wash his damn laundry like I was his maid.

I said I wasn't doin' it. I was already tired, hadn't eaten all day.

That man grabbed me by my hoodie, slammed me into the wall like I was a threat. Said, "You gon' earn your keep here, lil punk."

I didn't cry. Didn't scream.

Just looked at him.

He pushed me again, harder this time. I hit the floor, cracked my elbow, and he walked off like nothin' happened.

I told the foster lady what happened, she looked right past me and said, "Boys will be boys. Don't start no drama, Joseph."

I packed my stuff. Left with nothin' but a busted elbow and a hoodie with blood on the sleeve.

That's when I ran into Trell and his boys.

They was out posted by the corner store, throwin' dice, laughin', passin' a bottle around like they ain't had no worries.

Trell noticed me limpin'. Said, "Yo, who touched you like that? You straight?"

I didn't answer.

He smiled and said, "You look like you need folks. Come ride with us."

They gave me a burger, dap, a clean hoodie. Said I was family now.

That was all it took.

At first, it felt like I finally had a place. Like I wasn't just another number in a broken system.

Then I met Dre.

We clicked off rip.

Dre was wild, talked too much, laughed too loud, but never fake. Always wore this old red Bulls snapback he found behind a dumpster when he got outta juvie.

Said it was lucky. "Bad things don't happen when I got this on," he'd say, smilin' like a kid who still believed in magic.

He was the first real friend I had since my sister.

We used to hoop, joke, sometimes even go to school just to feel normal.

But that life? It don't leave room for peace.

One night, we was out late. Just grabbin' food, kickin' it like we always did.

That's when Dre spotted this dude from a rival set. Somebody who'd been threatenin' his cousin on IG.

Dre handed me his phone and said, "I'm just gon' check him real quick."

I told him not to. Told him it wasn't worth it.

He smirked and said, "Nah, I'll be straight. I got the hat, remember?"

He went 'round the corner. I waited.

Ten seconds.

Then came the shots.

Three.

I ran. I don't even remember movin'. Just remember seein' Dre layin' there, blood poolin' under him, his hat halfway off his head like it couldn't protect him this time.

He looked at me, eyes wide, chest jumpin'.

Tried to speak. Couldn't.

He reached for his phone in my hand like it was the last thing tetherin' him to this world.

Then he was gone.

That night, I walked away from it all.

No goodbyes.

No explanations.

I left that set like it was a bad dream I refused to keep sleepin' through.

I stayed up the whole night, starin' at that damn snapback.

Now? I see gangsters different.

I don't fear 'em.

I pity 'em.

Half of them walkin' around actin' like they lions, when really they just lost boys with broken hearts and suicidal thoughts, tryna bleed their pain onto somebody else.

They cowards. Hurtin' the world 'cause they ain't never healed theyselves. Walkin' round mad at everything 'cause they still seein' the ghosts of their own childhood every time they close their eyes.

After Dre died, I stopped talkin' for a while.

Not like mute, just... silent.

Didn't say nothin' unless I had to.

The foster system shuffled me to another house like I was some package with no return address. This one was in the Eastside, three kids already there, two bedrooms, and a smell like cigarettes and mildew baked into the walls.

The lady ran that joint like a business. She didn't care 'bout nothin' but the check. Food stamps, state money, she had it down to a science.

She gave me a thin blanket and said, "You sleep on the floor in Darnell's room. Don't cause no mess."

No "welcome." No "how you feelin'?"

I just nodded. Like always.

Darnell was fifteen too, but different. Loud. Always tryin' to prove somethin'. Kept tryna punk me, sayin' stuff like, "You was in a gang? That don't mean nothin'. You soft now." And I let it slide. I let it all slide.

Until one night, I heard him talkin' to one of the younger kids in the house real low, real greasy.

I ain't like the way he sounded. Ain't like the way the kid looked scared to breathe.

So I stepped in.

I said, "Back up off him."

Darnell laughed. "Who you think you is? This my house."

I didn't answer. I just stared. Didn't blink. Didn't flinch. Just... dared him.

He swung.

I ducked it and slammed him into the dresser so hard the mirror cracked. I just punched, and kept punching. I ain't even feel bad.

The lady came runnin'. Started screamin' at me like I was the problem. I told her straight up, "You got predators livin' in your house and you too busy countin' money to notice."

She threatened to call the social worker. I looked her dead in the face and said, "God. Call her. Matter fact, I'll call her myself."

That brought out a whole new attitude in this witch. She went off on Darnell like she was going outta style. Me? I went back.

Next day, I sat in that stuffy office with my caseworker, Miss Porter.

She was always "nice" on paper. Wore bright clothes, smiled too wide. But she was tired. Been in the game too long.

I told her everything. About the grown man beatin' me in the last home. About the lady who didn't feed us unless the state was watchin'. About Darnell. About all of it.

She asked, "Joseph... why didn't you speak up sooner?"

I looked her in the eye and said, "Because nobody listens unless I break somethin'."

She didn't have nothin' to say after that. She knew I was right.

They moved me again.

But this time, I ain't just go with it. I started watchin'.

Started learnin' how the system works, who gets paid, what they look for on reports, how they sweep things under the rug. I kept my head low, but my ears open. I was tired of being a number. Tired of bein' quiet. Tired of lettin' the system chew kids up and spit 'em out like trash .If nobody else was gonna care, I decided I would. Even if I had to burn the whole thing down to do it.