Pow! Pow! Pow! There was a massive explosion of gunshots. Then my mother fell to the ground, dead! I had seen everything from the coat closet where I was hiding to avoid taking a bath. No matter how much I wanted to scream and cry, I dared not move. There were three tall men about the same age as Carlos searching the house. It almost seemed as if they were looking for something or somebody. Carlos was the best brother any 8-year-old girl could wish for, and he was my best friend. At least every other Saturday, he would come home with a bag of candies for me. I never asked from where he got money. I did not pay attention to that. I was much more interested and delighted with the goodies. By the time Carlos got home that evening, the three men had already left. In tears and terrified, I tried to narrate to Carlos the tragic mishap that had occurred. He tried to calm me down and explained that he was part of a gang and that the three men were also gang members. He explained that the men were after him because he had broken a gang law, and that the men were willing to kill anyone who got in their way. Then and there, he dropped to his knees and made me swear not to tell a living soul. Disappointed and horrified by my brother's confession, I ran up to my room, slammed the door and yelled, "I will never talk to you again as long as I live."

Late that night before my father came home from a night shift, I heard a commotion in the front yard with cursing, foul language and words I could not understand. All of a sudden, I heard a familiar sound, Pow! Pow! Pow! Then through my bedroom window, I watched my brother as he fell to the floor, dead. This time, I was ready to take action, but I remembered Carlos' warning, "Gang members are willing to kill anybody who gets in their way." Reluctantly, I put my fist down and reticently watched the men scurry off into a dark alley. When I was positive that they were gone, I ran outside, dragged my brother in the house, and begged his lifeless body for forgiveness.

Without my brother and mother, my life changed forever. Juggling elementary school and a new busy schedule was a struggle for me. My daddy had to work two jobs, and I had to take on the responsibilities of a mother at a very young age. Some days, we went without food because we could not afford it. Several times, my father tried to remarry, but I convinced him otherwise because I was still grieving over my mother. I lived with the guilt that it was my fault that my mother and brother were killed. If I had just gone to take my bath as instructed instead of hiding, my mother would not have been looking for me and

gotten shot by gang members. Also, if I had not yelled at Carlos, he would not have gone outside the house and gotten into an argument with the gang.

A few times in middle school, I was almost tempted into using drugs to ease the pains of my losses, but my father always reminded me: "Drugs are not the solution."

I have seen other kids going through similar experiences. In my heart, I strongly feel that youth violence is a big issue in some communities. I believe that the reasons for youth violence are poor guidance, bad influence and lack of much-needed attention. As they say, "It takes a whole community to raise a child." If communities adopt these words of wisdom, there would be less gang activities and youths will find more productive ways to spend their time to the benefit of the community.

Extended Response

Prompt: ​ In a well written and organized paragraph, describe the loss the narrator experiences. How has the narrator’s identity changed from the beginning of the article to the end? The narrator has had to “take on the responsibilities of a mother”, how has the narrator’s response to this conflict shaped the narrator into the person they are today?