It's All Too Familiar
Taj Adams
New Orleans, La - Biology/Pre-Med

        Through the broken windowpane, we could clearly see a dirty baby’s bottle resting on the concrete floor, its nozzle pointed in the direction of an old sofa covered with tattered, green cloth. Next to the sofa was an end table, or what was left of one. The wooden legs were marred with chips and scratches and two of them were helped by twice folded cardboard for balance. The walls of the room were smeared with neglect, ranging from crayon marks and food stains to remnants of bodily fluids. Hanging over a dark hallway was a crooked portrait of Jesus Christ standing in front of a bright yellow light with extended arms. No one ventured to imagine what might be lurking in back of that hallway. The room was dead. No matter how hard you looked, there were no signs of life.
        The events of the previous night were unforgettable. The piercing screams and moans that faded in and out of the night sky. The thuds caused by bodies being carelessly thrown in all directions. It was as if evil itself had slithered into that house through all of its cracks and created absolute turmoil. No one was safe. The children fearfully ran all over, stopping in each room to search for a comforting hug from their grandmother. When they reached her room, they found her motionless on the bed, her church attire still on and an usher pin affixed firmly and perfectly to her breast. The children were oblivious to the blood soaked suit and began to vigorously shake her while shouting, “Grandma, wake up! Somebody’s in the house.”
        Their shouts drowned out approaching footsteps. A figured entered into the doorway and proceeded into the room. Suddenly, the screams ceased.
        After about five minutes, a raspy voice commanded, “Hey, this is a crime scene, you can’t be here.” We moved from the window and off the porch. As we walked away, two black trucks pulled up, one marked Crime Scene Investigation and the other, Narcotics Recovery.