There was once a kid who smiled bright and laughed easily. He was sociable and made friends quickly. He ran through the corn stalk fields, playing and laughing, gripping the leaves on the corn stalks until he was tired and out of breath. His grandmother had a boyfriend named Cowboy, who owned the fields in Canton, North Carolina. The fields grew every kind of vegetable you can imagine: from corn to peppers, tomatoes, cucumbers, eggplants, squash—you name it. And the Mexican people worked the fields, his family included. He enjoyed the work but sometimes ran into dilemmas.

The kid once forgot to put on gloves before picking the tomatoes, which are sprayed with chemicals to promote growth. He forgot all about this and rubbed his eyes. It burned so badly, he felt he would lose his eyeballs—or they would melt or something. He ran to his grandmother, who always helped and saved the little guy.

Another time, the kid picked peppers again without gloves, and sweat caused him to rub his eyes. This time, he ran straight to his grandmother’s house, but she was gone, and he stuck his head in the bathtub faucet to try and get rid of the burn from the peppers. He cried until his grandmother came to save him. So innocent was the kid at that time.

Yeah, sure, he had a rebellious nature, but he just wanted to play and have fun—doesn’t any kid?

On yet another occasion, he and his cousins were playing and saw a bee’s nest hanging from a tree. Curious and not knowing what it was, they threw rocks to knock it down. It looked like a boulder falling from the sky. Little did they know that they had just unleashed hell upon themselves. The nest hit the ground, and the bees were angry to the point that the kid ran and still got stung, along with his cousins. Looking back, it’s kind of funny, but the stings were not; it hurt.

The kid was even afraid of a German Shepherd dog Cowboy had. Whenever Cowboy would let him go off the leash, the kid would run as fast as he could, only to hide under trailer homes, scared to death of a dog. He would hide until there was no trace of the dog and go home crying to his mother. His mother would shower him with love, kiss him, and make him feel better. But the kid hated that dog… damn memories.

The kid now turned into a monster, sat with his gun on his lap, smoking a blunt of kush. His eyes were bloodshot red and low as slits, with dark black shades covering his eyes. High as a kite in the winds, he thought: How could my innocence be left behind so easily? Look at me now, a monster, evil, dark. People were afraid of him, and he had stooped so low to live on the dark side.

He hit the blunt again, smoke coming out of his nostrils like a train—that’s a wreck, him being the wreck. And well, forget about the train, he thought. So, more smoke? Yes! It was the only time he was at peace. The high was so good, he felt he was on a cloud. He laughed like a maniac and pointed the gun at his target. Suddenly sober, no longer high, which pissed him off. “Move, fam, and I’ll make sure you’ll never move again. Try me, pussy!” he shouted. He shoots once, twice, thrice. The guy runs, and the monster just laughs, finding it funny to shoot at people. So dark the kid has become. Just seconds ago, he was at peace, happy; now he’s dark and merciless. What of his innocence and his bright smile? What of his heart? Does he have a heart? Yes, and no. The monster can’t even feel his heartbeats.

It’s sick. He’s sick, but his world is dark, and his life is full of dismay. He just turned into a monster. Sigh! Fuck! Stupid childhood memories; they can’t help me anyway. No one can…