Novel & Cerita Ghetto Stories

The ghetto area was famous for robbing and killing and even sometimes, rape and my father in his days had tried to reunite the ghetto with us but it seemed like they enjoyed wallowing in their deep misery. Well, it was a good thing that they hadn't agreed, a good thing that they had stayed true to their ghetto hood. I drove down the town. The ghetto was characterized by dirty areas and shabby looking people and lots of prostitutes hovered around in the corners, calling out to their male customers to patronize them. Sometimes, I forgot that there was a place like this in our pack. I had forgotten how large our pack could be.

I would rather start my life anew and afresh with absolutely nothing that would affiliate me to my father except the painful, inescapable fact that I was his son. The environs around me was a slum, or rather still, a ghetto. Little wonder why most of the people who wanted to purchase the papers were hooligans, rogues, and hoodlums. At least I knew what a ghetto was. It wasn't even hard for me to know because my dad often liked to talk about how that was the least of all places he would ever go to if he were in search of a slave because most of the people who dwelled there knew how to fight keenly for this lives. So, I knew I had landed in the right place despite how harsh, unfavorable, and h

I ask trying not to think about this feeling. “This is Garage Valley also known as The Shanghai Slums, this area falls under my number three’s territory, a no-go area for everyone because it can swallow a passer-by like a swamp and not leave a trace. So, they say.” So, they say he says, if his number three owns this place then it can swallow people for them never to be seen again. His people are ruthless in business. It is not surprising to hear of a place like this.

Ethan ran a hand through his messy hair and leaned closer sharing stories about tough coaches and teammates riding his ass to perform. His voice dropped sometimes and each word made my nipples ache more. I added my own careful bits about feeling out of place without spilling the full disguise truth. The connection built fast with laughs over stupid people watching ideas like guessing who was about to get laid in the quad or who was hiding a bad hangover. “Imagine observing that couple over there,” he said nodding toward two students arguing quietly. “Guy looks like he wants to bolt but she has him by the balls. Classic.” I chuckled deep. “Yeah and he is probably thinking about the girl from

Gretta said, "But after a while we were really trying to get each other excited. For the longest time neither of us would admit it. We'd start out just talking and sooner or later the conversation would become risqué. After a while we'd start telling each other erotic stories about our supposed experiences. Then the talk would turn really dirty, downright pornographic. She'd be telling me about having sex with two or three boys and we both knew darn well it had never happened but I did the same thing right back using the nastiest language you can imagine. All this time pretending we were just talking; we both knew better. Pretty soon one of us would get up and go into the bathroom for a whil

Dravilsberg is a small country on its own, having just ten states and seventy-eight cities and I live in the parts of the city called ghetto. You see, each city in every state is classified under three classes. We have the slum, ghetto and upscale. The slum is where poverty-stricken people live. People like me who can afford to get some kinds of stuff themselves live in the ghetto and you know those who live in the upscale part of the city. The rich ones. Taking one last bend onto Cavern Street, weird name, right? I pull up in the garage of my parent’s little villa and stepped out of the car. Delivering two rapid knocks on the door, it swings open to reveal my mom’s smiling face.

“Besides… you remind me of someone I once knew. Someone who got lost in this city and was swallowed whole. I won’t let that happen again.” Rico wanted to believe him. Gods, he wanted to. But there was something in Marquez’s tone—a trace of sorrow, but also of calculation—that made Rico tighten his fists. The days turned into a routine. Rico ate, slept, and listened. Salvatore spoke often about the city, about the way gangs tangled like vines around its beating heart, each one drawing blood, each one claiming territory. He told stories—half-truths, perhaps—about betrayals, about wars fought in alleys and high-rises, about bosses who rose and fell like the tide.