Mathew

  Only one thing plagued the mind of six year old Mathew Castler as he laid under the small bed in a dark room. He was going to die. Memories of the few words his mother slipped to him after she left him under there replayed in his mind like an amateur movie with a repetitive theme. "Stay here, be quiet, I love you."

  Before his current stance, he was in the family room with his mother, father, and his four younger siblings. The large family sat on the torn up couch, reeking of cigarette smoke, watching a movie on the small television that they could afford. They all sat in silence, watching Dr Suess's The Grinch. Due to the fact Christmas was around the corner, they decided to watch strictly Christmas-based movies to fit the season.   Uncomfortably situated in the very middle of the couch, Mathew's mouth lolled open, watching The Grinch sing about stealing Christmas from all the innocent Whos.

  A trashy car sped in front of the small, three bedroom house, stopping with a screech. The sound causing everybody in the room to freeze. It sort or resembled a small kin of mice, freezing in fear as they fall into a trap, knowing their fate.

  Mathew could see his father whisper into his mother's ear. He could hardly hear the slightly audible words the man slipped to his wife. "Hide the kids- it's the Crips."

  The Crips were the rivals of the Bloods, a gang in LA where Mathew and his family lived. Apparently they belonged to the Bloods, causing them to be a target for the evil men outside their front door.

  Shutting off the lights and television, the tall, buff man left the couch to barricade the front door. The woman hurried all the children into the "master" bedroom.

  Stuffing the four youngest into the closet, she stood there for a moment. Unable to tear her eyes from the small children, /her/ children. Tears flooded her vision, causing her to back away. Slowly turning from the youngsters, she looked at her oldest son, Mathew. Ushering him under the bed, she closed the door of the closet, slipping her final words to the trembling kids. Locking the door, she grabbed a small handgun from the desk drawer. Before walking back out of the room, she gazed at her oldest son, quivering with fear under the discolored bed.

  "Stay here, be quiet, I love you." She mumbled, disappearing out of the room.

  Now, Mathew just laid there, unable to move. Fear flooding his nerves. He felt trapped. Like somebody stuck on an island, full of dangers with no way out.

  BANG! BANG!

 Mathew gasped hearing the loud pounds erupting from the front door of the house. A small whimper escaped from the closet across the room. Mathew pushed his hands against his ears, squeezing with all his might to drown out the horrifying screams and gunshots from the living room. Muffled cries from the closet caught the men's attention.

  With a simple kick, the door of the master bedroom fell to the floor. The noise caused the children in the closet to yelp, in attempt to hush themselves. Standing over the door, two dark skinned men looked around the room for the source of the noise. They wore low hanging jeans and black sweatshirts three-sizes too large. Navy blue bandannas covered the bottom half of their faces, giving them the look of a common juvenile delinquent, bloodthirsty and evil.

  As they walked from the doorway, Mathew could see into the living room down the hall. On the ground, motionless, was his mother. Her eyes wide as if she were looking at him. Further examination of her face, her mouth was open like she was releasing an ear-splitting scream. Tears filled Mathew's eyes as he came to realization; his mother, the woman who cared for him, loved him, watched over him.. was dead. An emptiness filled him, something which he'd never experienced before.

  BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM! Four gunshots carried through the air, nearly deafening the child. He timidly turned his head towards the closet. The door was opened, revealing the four small children inside. Mathew silently gasped, throwing his hands to his mouth at the sight of his siblings.
  Each child was silent, folded over on the ground. A large pool of blood escaped from them, causing a large puddle that spread around the floor like a pot of soup being poured into a small plate.
  Mathew fought his urge to scream.
  One of the two men dipped his gloved hand into the pool of blood, wiping it across the wall. He continued doing this until muffled sirens could be heard, growing louder every second. After finishing his /masterpiece/, he stepped back, eyeing it proudly. The second man pulled the other, motioning towards the door. As quickly as they could, they both ran out of the house, speeding away.
  Cops entered the small room, trying not to look at the dead children inside the closet. Mathew, completely safe and alive, slowly crawled out from under the bed. They ran two him, asking all kinds of questions. Instead of providing answers, he fell to the ground, unconscious.