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Staying home alone at a young age was something I did often in my East Los Angeles neighborhood. My mother would always be at work day and night trying to keep us above waters since her and my father divorced. Being the youngest of six children, there was never anything for me to do outside my home. Especially on weekends; when my sisters would go dancing with their alcoholic, hypocrite friends and my witty, intelligent brothers would go to church, which they did religiously. As for my mother, well, let’s just say that she loved her annoying, selfish boyfriend much more than her daughter (me). She would tell me that she had to work all night and that I wouldn’t see her until the next day; all the while I knew weekends were the nights she would sleep over at her “Man’s” house. Talk about a mother’s love. Yet, it was on this freezing Saturday night in June when I was eight years old, my stay home alone would be like no other. My house that night became the target for a robbery to a couple of gang members. Laying lazily, watching an episode of, “Elvira, Mistress of the Dark,” on my apparent ugly, small, thirteen inch television, with bad reception, was when I heard a large thump, which sounded like a body slamming against a wall. At that moment I didn’t think much of it, since it had happened before, but in those cases I knew it was a measly cat trying to get into my basement. Meanwhile, I recall that the television show was not the only thing that was scary about that night, but the fact that the living room was as dark as being under the covers and it was as cold as being in an ice box. The sofa too was very cold like an ice cube, hideous as a Rhino, green like snot, and was of very noisy vinyl.
Approximate Word count = 1260
Approximate Pages = 5
(250 words per page double spaced)
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