Seventeen

It was as if I was a rice that had been thrown inside the van again, my head hitting the side of the seat. And Maverick violently closed the door. I stood on the floor, I wanted to touch my forehead that looked like a lump, but my hand was behind me. I will not cry. I can handle this too.

I straightened up, and my treacherous tears came out of my eyes. You unfaithful tears, why are you excited to come out? The man operated the vehicle. Where are his companions?

I looked back, and just now, I noticed the African on the ground, bloody head. This guy slew the poor man! Pity and anger haunted me. Compassion for the African teenager and anger at the man driving. How could he kill his men? How could he? Doesn’t he think of the families of those he killed? What if he still has children? Waiting for their father to come home, they didn't know he was dead. What if that african’s mother is waiting for her son? Isn’t how painful it is for a mother to lose a child?

I looked at the tattoo on the m