When regarding low-income neighborhoods, primarily African American ones, you always hear about how hard it is to “make it out” or the constant fear for your life. Yet they never tell you about the constant fear for the lives of your loved ones or the people you grew up with. Some become successful businessmen or perhaps professional athletes, but the ones you’ve grown close to, the ones you consider family, those are the ones that seem to die the most. You wanted to know more about me, “what makes me, me,” well here it is. Eleven deaths in addition to ten years of trauma from parental abuse to homelessness. Let’s start with deaths. I was thirteen and in 8th grade. It was a Saturday night, December 9, 2017, to be exact. I was in the living room playing a video game like the average teenager on a Saturday night until I heard four hard knocks at the door. Growing up where I grew up, I was always taught not to open the door for anyone when you’re home alone. Instead of opening the door, I cracked the window with the screen still there and asked the man knocking what he needed. He told me that my father had just been killed. I was a naive teenager and thought that he was just talking so I thanked him for letting me know, closed the window, and then went back to playing the game. Not even five minutes later, I had a gut feeling and was sitting on the stairs shaking, trying to obtain contact with someone and praying to God that the man from the window was just a drunk. Sadly, I learned he was not just a drunk while speaking with this man days later at my father’s funeral. That night I lost my best friend and my father, leading to a series of continuous deaths in life. December 10, 2017. January 8, 2018. April 9, 2018. May 2, 2018. September 1, 2018. February 19, 2019. July 26, 2020. November 7, 2020. January 26, 2021. April 4, 2021. October 7, 2021 November 17, 2021 Those are all death dates. Six were murders, and six were by natural causes. All the deaths affected me but not nearly as much as the first four. That December through May, I was too busy with school to even feel it, but at the end of the year when it was all said and done, I had to come to a realization that it wasn't a dream. At the beginning of freshman year, I made a deal with myself that I would never become another statistic or increase the death rate. I also decided I would never go through another summer like the one prior. I wanted to get involved with a club, and make it my mission to attend every event and meeting in attempt to stay involved and not roam outside in the streets. That club just happened to be DECA(Distributive Education Clubs of America). I accomplished my goal and carried it forward through the following years out of pure determination that I wanted out and wanted to break the cycle, I did not know what I wanted to do in life, but I knew I wanted out. However, I soon discovered my passion for books, writing, and comics. DECA helped me learn how to maneuver and operate the business world that I am soon to be involved in. I have a dream to someday direct my own movie, whether it be based on my future books or future comic books.

When regarding low-income neighborhoods, primarily African American ones, you always hear about how hard it is to “make it out” or the constant fear for your life. Yet they never tell you about the constant fear for the lives of your loved ones or the people you grew up with. Some become successful businessmen or perhaps professional athletes, but the ones you’ve grown close to, the ones you consider family, those are the ones that seem to die the most. You wanted to know more about me, “what makes me, me,” well here it is. Eleven deaths in addition to ten years of trauma from parental abuse to homelessness. Let’s start with deaths. I was thirteen and in 8th grade. It was a Saturday night, December 9, 2017, to be exact. I was in the living room playing a video game like the average teenager on a Saturday night until I heard four hard knocks at the door. Growing up where I grew up, I was always taught not to open the door for anyone when you’re home alone. Instead of opening the door, I cracked the window with the screen still there and asked the man knocking what he needed. He told me that my father had just been killed. I was a naive teenager and thought that he was just talking so I thanked him for letting me know, closed the window, and then went back to playing the game. Not even five minutes later, I had a gut feeling and was sitting on the stairs shaking, trying to obtain contact with someone and praying to God that the man from the window was just a drunk. Sadly, I learned he was not just a drunk while speaking with this man days later at my father’s funeral. That night I lost my best friend and my father, leading to a series of continuous deaths in life. December 10, 2017. January 8, 2018. April 9, 2018. May 2, 2018. September 1, 2018. February 19, 2019. July 26, 2020. November 7, 2020. January 26, 2021. April 4, 2021. October 7, 2021 November 17, 2021 Those are all death dates. Six were murders, and six were by natural causes. All the deaths affected me but not nearly as much as the first four. That December through May, I was too busy with school to even feel it, but at the end of the year when it was all said and done, I had to come to a realization that it wasn't a dream. At the beginning of freshman year, I made a deal with myself that I would never become another statistic or increase the death rate. I also decided I would never go through another summer like the one prior. I wanted to get involved with a club, and make it my mission to attend every event and meeting in attempt to stay involved and not roam outside in the streets. That club just happened to be DECA(Distributive Education Clubs of America). I accomplished my goal and carried it forward through the following years out of pure determination that I wanted out and wanted to break the cycle, I did not know what I wanted to do in life, but I knew I wanted out. However, I soon discovered my passion for books, writing, and comics. DECA helped me learn how to maneuver and operate the business world that I am soon to be involved in. I have a dream to someday direct my own movie, whether it be based on my future books or future comic books.

When regarding low-income neighborhoods, primarily African American ones, you always hear about how hard it is to “make it out” or the constant fear for your life. Yet they never tell you about the constant fear for the lives of your loved ones or the people you grew up with. Some become successful businessmen or perhaps professional athletes, but the ones you’ve grown close to, the ones you consider family, those are the ones that seem to die the most. You wanted to know more about me, “what makes me, me,” well here it is. Eleven deaths in addition to ten years of trauma from parental abuse to homelessness. Let’s start with deaths. I was thirteen and in 8th grade. It was a Saturday night, December 9, 2017, to be exact. I was in the living room playing a video game like the average teenager on a Saturday night until I heard four hard knocks at the door. Growing up where I grew up, I was always taught not to open the door for anyone when you’re home alone. Instead of opening the door, I cracked the window with the screen still there and asked the man knocking what he needed. He told me that my father had just been killed. I was a naive teenager and thought that he was just talking so I thanked him for letting me know, closed the window, and then went back to playing the game. Not even five minutes later, I had a gut feeling and was sitting on the stairs shaking, trying to obtain contact with someone and praying to God that the man from the window was just a drunk. Sadly, I learned he was not just a drunk while speaking with this man days later at my father’s funeral. That night I lost my best friend and my father, leading to a series of continuous deaths in life. December 10, 2017. January 8, 2018. April 9, 2018. May 2, 2018. September 1, 2018. February 19, 2019. July 26, 2020. November 7, 2020. January 26, 2021. April 4, 2021. October 7, 2021 November 17, 2021 Those are all death dates. Six were murders, and six were by natural causes. All the deaths affected me but not nearly as much as the first four. That December through May, I was too busy with school to even feel it, but at the end of the year when it was all said and done, I had to come to a realization that it wasn't a dream. When that summer came and I was force to be alone with my feelings and thoughts, I came out of the delusion and went in to a deep depression, only leaving the house four times that summer. That summer right before freshman year of high school was the hardest season in my short-lived life. At the beginning of freshman year, I made a deal with myself that I would never become another statistic or increase the death rate. I also decided I would never go through another summer like the one prior. I wanted to get involved with a club, and make it my mission to attend every event and meeting in attempt to stay involved and not roam outside in the streets. That club just happened to be DECA(Distributive Education Clubs of America). I accomplished my goal and carried it forward through the following years out of pure determination that I wanted out and wanted to break the cycle, I did not know what I wanted to do in life, but I knew I wanted out.

When regarding low-income neighborhoods, primarily African American ones, you always hear about how hard it is to “make it out” or the constant fear for your life. Yet they never tell you about the constant fear for the lives of your loved ones or the people you grew up with. Some become successful businessmen or perhaps professional athletes, but the ones you’ve grown close to, the ones you consider family, those are the ones that seem to die the most. You wanted to know more about me, “what makes me, me,” well here it is. Eleven deaths in addition to ten years of trauma from parental abuse to homelessness. Let’s start with deaths. I was thirteen and in 8th grade. It was a Saturday night, December 9, 2017, to be exact. I was in the living room playing a video game like the average teenager on a Saturday night until I heard four hard knocks at the door. Growing up where I grew up, I was always taught not to open the door for anyone when you’re home alone. Instead of opening the door, I cracked the window with the screen still there and asked the man knocking what he needed. He told me that my father had just been killed. I was a naive teenager and thought that he was just talking so I thanked him for letting me know, closed the window, and then went back to playing the game. Not even five minutes later, I had a gut feeling and was sitting on the stairs shaking, trying to obtain contact with someone and praying to God that the man from the window was just a drunk. Sadly, I learned he was not just a drunk while speaking with this man days later at my father’s funeral. That night I lost my best friend and my father, leading to a series of continuous deaths in life. December 10, 2017. January 8, 2018. April 9, 2018. May 2, 2018. September 1, 2018. February 19, 2019. July 26, 2020. November 7, 2020. January 26, 2021. April 4, 2021. October 7, 2021 Those are all death dates. Six were murders, and five were by natural causes. All the deaths affected me but not nearly as much as the first four. That December through May, I was too busy with school to even feel it, but at the end of the year when it was all said and done, I had to come to a realization that it wasn't a dream. When that summer came and I was force to be alone with my feelings and thoughts, I came out of the delusion and went in to a deep depression, only leaving the house four times that summer. That summer right before freshman year of high school was the hardest season in my short-lived life. At the beginning of freshman year, I made a deal with myself that I would never become another statistic or increase the death rate. I also decided I would never go through another summer like the one prior. I wanted to get involved with a club, and make it my mission to attend every event and meeting in attempt to stay involved and not roam outside in the streets. That club just happened to be DECA(Distributive Education Clubs of America). I accomplished my goal and carried it forward through the following years out of pure determination that I wanted out and wanted to break the cycle, I did not know what I wanted to do in life, but I knew I wanted out. However, I soon discovered my passion for books, writing, and comics. DECA helped me learn how to maneuver and operate the business world that I am soon to be involved in. I have a dream to someday direct my own movie, whether it be based on my future books or future comic books.

When talking about low-income neighborhoods, and primarily African American ones, you will always hear about how hard it is to make it out or the constant fear for your life. Yet they never tell you about the constant fear for the lives of your loved ones, the ones you grew up with. Some become successful, perhaps professional athletes, and make it out, but the ones you’ve grown close to, the ones you can consider family, you’ll watch many of them die. I was 13 years old and in the 8th grade. It was a Saturday night, December 9, 2017, to be exact. I was in the living room playing a game like the average teenager on a Saturday night until I heard four hard knocks at the door. Growing up where I grew up, I was always taught not to open the door for anyone when you’re home alone. So, instead, I cracked the window with the screen still there and asked the man knocking what he needed. He told me that my father had just been killed. I was a naive teenager so I thanked him for letting me know, closed the window, and went back to playing the game. Not even five minutes later, I was sitting on the stairs shaking, trying to get in contact with someone and praying to God that the man from the window was just a drunk. That same man came up and talked to me at my father’s funeral. That one simple Saturday night started a chain reaction of deaths that I call “Death Valley.” December 10, 2017. January 8, 2018. April 9, 2018. May 2, 2018. September 1, 2018. February 19, 2019. July 26, 2020. November 7, 2020. January 26, 2021. April 4, 2021. Those are all Death dates, six murders and four from natural causes, and they are my Death Valley. All the deaths affected me but not nearly as much as the first four. That December through May, I was too busy to feel it and come to a realization that it wasn't just a dream. That summer before freshman year of high school was the hardest season in my short-lived life. You wanted to know more about me, “what makes me, me,” well there you go. Those 10 deaths were in addition to 10 years of trauma from parental abuse to homelessness. It’s not an easy task or even a slightly accomplishable one, but in some way, I managed to make it work and will continue to make it work throughout my everyday life. Now, my life has not been easy but not once have I caved into the pressures of my life and my environment. So at the beginning of freshman year, I made a deal with myself, that I would never become just another statistic, that I would never go through another summer like the one I had just experienced. So I got involved with DECA and made it my mission to attend every event and meeting, and that’s exactly what I did that year and the following years, out of pure determination that I wanted out. I didn’t know what I wanted to do in life, but I just knew I wanted out. However, I soon discovered my passion for books, writing, and comics. I have a dream to someday direct my own movie, whether based on my future books or future comic books.

When talking about low-income neighborhoods, and primarily African American ones, you will always hear about how hard it is to make it out or the constant fear for your life. Yet they never tell you about the constant fear for the lives of your loved ones, the ones you grew up with. Some become successful, perhaps professional athletes, and make it out, but the ones you’ve grown close to, the ones you can consider family, you’ll watch many of them die. I was 13 years old and in the 8th grade. It was a Saturday night, December 9, 2017, to be exact. I was in the living room playing a game like the average teenager on a Saturday night until I heard four hard knocks at the door. Growing up where I grew up, I was always taught not to open the door for anyone when you’re home alone. So, instead, I cracked the window with the screen still there and asked the man knocking what he needed. He told me that my father had just been killed. I was a naive teenager so I thanked him for letting me know, closed the window, and went back to playing the game. Not even five minutes later, I was sitting on the stairs shaking, trying to get in contact with someone and praying to God that the man from the window was just a drunk. That same man came up and talked to me at my father’s funeral. That one simple Saturday night started a chain reaction of deaths that I call “Death Valley.” December 10, 2017. January 8, 2018. April 9, 2018. May 2, 2018. September 1, 2018. February 19, 2019. July 26, 2020. November 7, 2020. January 26, 2021. April 4, 2021. Those are all Death dates, six murders and four from natural causes, and they are my Death Valley. All the deaths affected me but not nearly as much as the first four. That December through May, I was too busy to feel it and come to a realization that it wasn't just a dream. That summer before freshman year of high school was the hardest season in my short-lived life. You wanted to know more about me, “what makes me, me,” well there you go. Those 10 deaths were in addition to 10 years of trauma from parental abuse to homelessness. It’s not an easy task or even a slightly accomplishable one, but in some way, I managed to make it work and will continue to make it work throughout my everyday life. Now, my life has not been easy but not once have I caved into the pressures of my life and my environment. So at the beginning of freshman year, I made a deal with myself, that I would never become just another statistic, that I would never go through another summer like the one I had just experienced. So I got involved with DECA and made it my mission to attend every event and meeting, and that’s exactly what I did that year and the following years, out of pure determination that I wanted out. I didn’t know what I wanted to do in life, but I just knew I wanted out. However, I soon discovered my passion for books, writing, and comics. I have a dream to someday direct my own movie, whether based on my future books or future comic books.

When talking about low-income neighborhoods, and primarily African American ones, you will always hear about how hard it is to make it out or the constant fear for your life. Yet they never tell you about the constant fear for the lives of your loved ones, the ones you grew up with. Some become successful, perhaps professional athletes, and make it out, but the ones you’ve grown close to, the ones you can consider family, you’ll watch many of them die. I was 13 years old and in the 8th grade. It was a Saturday night, December 9, 2017, to be exact. I was in the living room playing a game like the average teenager on a Saturday night until I heard four hard knocks at the door. Growing up where I grew up, I was always taught not to open the door for anyone when you’re home alone. So, instead, I cracked the window with the screen still there and asked the man knocking what he needed. He told me that my father had just been killed. I was a naive teenager so I thanked him for letting me know, closed the window, and went back to playing the game. Not even five minutes later, I was sitting on the stairs shaking, trying to get in contact with someone and praying to God that the man from the window was just a drunk. That same man came up and talked to me at my father’s funeral. That one simple Saturday night started a chain reaction of deaths that I call “Death Valley.” December 10, 2017. January 8, 2018. April 9, 2018. May 2, 2018. September 1, 2018. February 19, 2019. July 26, 2020. November 7, 2020. January 26, 2021. April 4, 2021. Those are all Death dates, six murders and four from natural causes, and they are my Death Valley. All the deaths affected me but not nearly as much as the first four. That December through May, I was too busy to feel it and come to a realization that it wasn't just a dream. That summer before freshman year of high school was the hardest season in my short-lived life. You wanted to know more about me, “what makes me, me,” well there you go. Those 10 deaths were in addition to 10 years of trauma from parental abuse to homelessness. It’s not an easy task or even a slightly accomplishable one, but in some way, I managed to make it work and will continue to make it work throughout my everyday life. Now, my life has not been easy but not once have I caved into the pressures of my life and my environment. So at the beginning of freshman year, I made a deal with myself, that I would never become just another statistic, that I would never go through another summer like the one I had just experienced. So I got involved with DECA and made it my mission to attend every event and meeting, and that’s exactly what I did that year and the following years, out of pure determination that I wanted out. I didn’t know what I wanted to do in life, but I just knew I wanted out. However, I soon discovered my passion for books, writing, and comics. I have a dream to someday direct my own movie, whether based on my future books or future comic books.

When talking about low-income neighborhoods, and primarily African American ones, you will always hear about how hard it is to make it out or the constant fear for your life. Yet they never tell you about the constant fear for the lives of your loved ones, the ones you grew up with. Some become successful, perhaps professional athletes, and make it out, but the ones you’ve grown close to, the ones you can consider family, you’ll watch many of them die. I was 13 years old and in the 8th grade. It was a Saturday night, December 9, 2017, to be exact. I was in the living room playing a game like the average teenager on a Saturday night until I heard four hard knocks at the door. Growing up where I grew up, I was always taught not to open the door for anyone when you’re home alone. So, instead, I cracked the window with the screen still there and asked the man knocking what he needed. He told me that my father had just been killed. I was a naive teenager so I thanked him for letting me know, closed the window, and went back to playing the game. Not even five minutes later, I was sitting on the stairs shaking, trying to get in contact with someone and praying to God that the man from the window was just a drunk. That same man came up and talked to me at my father’s funeral. That one simple Saturday night started a chain reaction of deaths that I call “Death Valley.” December 10, 2017. January 8, 2018. April 9, 2018. May 2, 2018. September 1, 2018. February 19, 2019. July 26, 2020. November 7, 2020. January 26, 2021. April 4, 2021. Those are all Death dates, six murders and four from natural causes, and they are my Death Valley. All the deaths affected me but not nearly as much as the first four. That December through May, I was too busy to feel it and come to a realization that it wasn't just a dream. That summer before freshman year of high school was the hardest season in my short-lived life. You wanted to know more about me, “what makes me, me,” well there you go. Those 10 deaths were in addition to 10 years of trauma from parental abuse to homelessness. It’s not an easy task or even a slightly accomplishable one, but in some way, I managed to make it work and will continue to make it work throughout my everyday life. Now, my life has not been easy but not once have I caved into the pressures of my life and my environment. So at the beginning of freshman year, I made a deal with myself, that I would never become just another statistic, that I would never go through another summer like the one I had just experienced. So I got involved with DECA and made it my mission to attend every event and meeting, and that’s exactly what I did that year and the following years, out of pure determination that I wanted out. I didn’t know what I wanted to do in life, but I just knew I wanted out. However, I soon discovered my passion for books, writing, and comics. I have a dream to someday direct my own movie, whether based on my future books or future comic books.

C. Martin Essay When talking about low-income neighborhoods, and primarily African American ones, you will always hear about how hard it is to make it out or the constant fear for your life. Yet they never tell you about the constant fear for the lives of your loved ones, the ones you grew up with. I was 13 years old and in the 8th grade. It was a Saturday night, December 9, 2017, to be exact. I was in the living room playing a game like the average teenager on a Saturday night until I heard four hard knocks at the door. Growing up where I grew up, I was always taught not to open the door for anyone when you’re home alone. So, instead, I cracked the window with the screen still there and asked the man knocking what he needed. He told me that my father had just been killed. I was a naive teenager so I thanked him for letting me know, closed the window, and went back to playing the game. That same man came up and talked to me at my father’s funeral. That one simple Saturday night started a chain reaction of deaths that I call “Death Valley.” December 10, 2017. January 8, 2018. April 9, 2018. May 2, 2018. September 1, 2018. February 19, 2019. July 26, 2020. November 7, 2020. January 26, 2021. April 4, 2021. Those are all Death dates, six murders, and four from natural causes, and they are my Death Valley. So I got involved with DECA and made it my mission to attend every event and meeting, and that’s exactly what I did that year and the following years, out of pure determination that I wanted out.

C. Martin Essay When talking about low-income neighborhoods, and primarily African American ones, you will always hear about how hard it is to make it out or the constant fear for your life. Yet they never tell you about the constant fear for the lives of your loved ones, the ones you grew up with. Some become successful, perhaps professional athletes, and make it out, but the ones you’ve grown close to, the ones you can consider family, you’ll watch many of them die. I was 13 years old and in the 8th grade. It was a Saturday night, December 9, 2017, to be exact. I was in the living room playing a game like the average teenager on a Saturday night until I heard four hard knocks at the door. Growing up where I grew up, I was always taught not to open the door for anyone when you’re home alone. So, instead, I cracked the window with the screen still there and asked the man knocking what he needed. He told me that my father had just been killed. I was a naive teenager so I thanked him for letting me know, closed the window, and went back to playing the game. Not even five minutes later, I was sitting on the stairs shaking, trying to get in contact with someone and praying to God that the man from the window was just a drunk. That same man came up and talked to me at my father’s funeral. That one simple Saturday night started a chain reaction of deaths that I call “Death Valley.” December 10, 2017. January 8, 2018. April 9, 2018. May 2, 2018. September 1, 2018. February 19, 2019. July 26, 2020. November 7, 2020. January 26, 2021. April 4, 2021. Those are all Death dates, six murders, and four from natural causes, and they are my Death Valley. All the deaths affected me but not nearly as much as the first four. That December through May, I was too busy to feel it and come to a realization that it wasn't just a dream. That summer before freshman year of high school was the hardest season in my short-lived life. You wanted to know more about me, “what makes me, me,” well there you go. Those 10 deaths were in addition to 10 years of trauma from parental abuse to homelessness. So at the beginning of freshman year, I made a deal with myself, that I would never become just another statistic, that I would never go through another summer like the one I had just experienced. So I got involved with DECA, out of pure determination that I wanted out. I didn’t know what I wanted to do in life, but I just knew I wanted out. However, I soon discovered my passion for books, writing, and comics. I have a dream to someday direct my movie, whether based on my future books or future comic books.

C. Martin Essay When talking about low-income neighborhoods, and primarily African American ones, you will always hear about how hard it is to make it out or the constant fear for your life. Yet they never tell you about the constant fear for the lives of your loved ones, the ones you grew up with. Some become successful, perhaps professional athletes, and make it out, but the ones you’ve grown close to, the ones you can consider family, you’ll watch many of them die. I was 13 years old and in the 8th grade. It was a Saturday night, December 9, 2017, to be exact. I was in the living room playing a game like the average teenager on a Saturday night until I heard four hard knocks at the door. Growing up where I grew up, I was always taught not to open the door for anyone when you’re home alone. So, instead, I cracked the window with the screen still there and asked the man knocking what he needed. He told me that my father had just been killed. I was a naive teenager so I thanked him for letting me know, closed the window, and went back to playing the game. Not even five minutes later, I was sitting on the stairs shaking, trying to get in contact with someone and praying to God that the man from the window was just a drunk. That same man came up and talked to me at my father’s funeral. That one simple Saturday night started a chain reaction of deaths that I call “Death Valley.” December 10, 2017. January 8, 2018. April 9, 2018. May 2, 2018. September 1, 2018. February 19, 2019. July 26, 2020. November 7, 2020. January 26, 2021. April 4, 2021. Those are all Death dates, six murders and four from natural causes, and they are my Death Valley. All the deaths affected me but not nearly as much as the first four. That December through May, I was too busy to feel it and come to a realization that it wasn't just a dream. That summer before freshman year of high school was the hardest season in my short-lived life. You wanted to know more about me, “what makes me, me,” well there you go. Those 10 deaths were in addition to 10 years of trauma from parental abuse to homelessness. It’s not an easy task or even a slightly accomplishable one, but in some way, I managed to make it work and will continue to make it work throughout my everyday life. Now, my life has not been easy but not once have I caved into the pressures of my life and my environment. So at the beginning of freshman year, I made a deal with myself, that I would never become just another statistic, that I would never go through another summer like the one I had just experienced. So I got involved with DECA and made it my mission to attend every event and meeting, and that’s exactly what I did that year and the following years, out of pure determination that I wanted out. I didn’t know what I wanted to do in life, but I just knew I wanted out. However, I soon discovered my passion for books, writing, and comics. I have a dream to someday direct my own movie, whether based on my future books or future comic books.

C. Martin Essay When talking about low-income neighborhoods, and primarily African American ones, you will always hear about how hard it is to make it out or the constant fear for your life. Yet they never tell you about the constant fear for the lives of your loved ones, the ones you grew up with. Some become successful, perhaps professional athletes, and make it out, but the ones you’ve grown close to, the ones you can consider family, you’ll watch many of them die. I was 13 years old and in the 8th grade. It was a Saturday night, December 9, 2017, to be exact. I was in the living room playing a game like the average teenager on a Saturday night until I heard four hard knocks at the door. Growing up where I grew up, I was always taught not to open the door for anyone when you’re home alone. So, instead, I cracked the window with the screen still there and asked the man knocking what he needed. He told me that my father had just been killed. I was a naive teenager so I thanked him for letting me know, closed the window, and went back to playing the game. Not even five minutes later, I was sitting on the stairs shaking, trying to get in contact with someone and praying to God that the man from the window was just a drunk. That same man came up and talked to me at my father’s funeral. That one simple Saturday night started a chain reaction of deaths that I call “Death Valley.” December 10, 2017. January 8, 2018. April 9, 2018. May 2, 2018. September 1, 2018. February 19, 2019. July 26, 2020. November 7, 2020. January 26, 2021. April 4, 2021. Those are all Death dates, six murders, and four from natural causes, and they are my Death Valley. All the deaths affected me but not nearly as much as the first four. That December through May, I was too busy to feel it and come to a realization that it wasn't just a dream. That summer before freshman year of high school was the hardest season in my short-lived life. You wanted to know more about me, “what makes me, me,” well there you go. Those 10 deaths were in addition to 10 years of trauma from parental abuse to homelessness. It’s not an easy task or even a slightly accomplishable one, but in some way, I managed to make it work and will continue to make it work throughout my everyday life. Now, my life has not been easy but not once have I caved into the pressures of my life and my environment. So at the beginning of freshman year, I made a deal with myself, that I would never become just another statistic, that I would never go through another summer like the one I had just experienced. So I got involved with DECA and made it my mission to attend every event and meeting, and that’s exactly what I did that year and the following years, out of pure determination that I wanted out. I didn’t know what I wanted to do in life, but I just knew I wanted out. However, I soon discovered my passion for books, writing, and comics. I have a dream to someday direct my own movie, whether based on my future books or future comic books.

C. Martin Essay When talking about low-income neighborhoods, and primarily African American ones, you will always hear about how hard it is to make it out or the constant fear for your life. Yet they never tell you about the constant fear for the lives of your loved ones, the ones you grew up with. Some become successful, perhaps professional athletes, and make it out, but the ones you’ve grown close to, the ones you can consider family, you’ll watch many of them die. I was 13 years old and in the 8th grade. It was a Saturday night, December 9, 2017, to be exact. I was in the living room playing a game like the average teenager on a Saturday night until I heard four hard knocks at the door. Growing up where I grew up, I was always taught not to open the door for anyone when you’re home alone. So, instead, I cracked the window with the screen still there and asked the man knocking what he needed. He told me that my father had just been killed. I was a naive teenager so I thanked him for letting me know, closed the window, and went back to playing the game. Not even five minutes later, I was sitting on the stairs shaking, trying to get in contact with someone and praying to God that the man from the window was just a drunk. That same man came up and talked to me at my father’s funeral. That one simple Saturday night started a chain reaction of deaths that I call “Death Valley.” December 10, 2017. January 8, 2018. April 9, 2018. May 2, 2018. September 1, 2018. February 19, 2019. July 26, 2020. November 7, 2020. January 26, 2021. April 4, 2021. Those are all Death dates, six murders, and four from natural causes, and they are my Death Valley. All the deaths affected me but not nearly as much as the first four. That December through May, I was too busy to feel it and come to a realization that it wasn't just a dream. That summer before freshman year of high school was the hardest season in my short-lived life. You wanted to know more about me, “what makes me, me,” well there you go. Those 10 deaths were in addition to 10 years of trauma from parental abuse to homelessness. It’s not an easy task or even a slightly accomplishable one, but in some way, I managed to make it work and will continue to make it work throughout my everyday life. Now, my life has not been easy but not once have I caved into the pressures of my life and my environment. So at the beginning of freshman year, I made a deal with myself, that I would never become just another statistic, that I would never go through another summer like the one I had just experienced. So I got involved with DECA and made it my mission to attend every event and meeting, and that’s exactly what I did that year and the following years, out of pure determination that I wanted out. I didn’t know what I wanted to do in life, but I just knew I wanted out. However, I soon discovered my passion for books, writing, and comics. I have a dream to someday direct my own movie, whether based on my future books or future comic books.