January 11, 1939

There was no funeral for Adobe. I mean, there was, but it was not as special as the boss's funeral. He was buried today, under some fresh soil. As I stared at the patch of dirt that had no flowers or headstone, I thought about my life. How long would it be before another one of us would die from the virus, or murder, or by mistake? His grandmother died on Monday according to Ms. Moore. The virus did not get the chance to get to her. She was taken by her old age, a gift that not everyone around here is not as fortunate to get.

They said he was a good boy, the type of boy that everyone wanted to be around. That was a lie, the only friend he had around here was me. They also said that he would have grown up to be a handsome young man. That was true, something that I could deny. My mom and I decorated the dirt of his grave with two roses. The flowers would shrivel up and die anyway, but it is the thought that counts. "The city is going downhill. I think we should move. At least there would not be a funeral every week. We could have peace of mind," my mom folded her hands over her chest, tucking her fingertips under her armpits. "I did not know Jack was turned into a crazy person. He was such a good boy." Those word again, good boy.

"If we move, we wouldn't see dead bodies every day. Isn't that what you want?" She shoved a cigarette into her mouth. I pulled a lighter from my pocket and lit it. We stood there for a bit, looking his grave. No one blamed me except me. There was not much to tell. Jack shot Adobe with no remorse. He fled the scene after realizing what he had done. No one knows where he had gone. There was not much that I could do. He died instantly, right there in my boss's backyard. The police did not ask me any questions. No one wanted to hear what the Focker boy had to say. Serves them right.

"Mom, do I have to go to school tomorrow? Ms. Moore said that I did not have to go to school if I did not want to."

"You are going to school. You are going to get that education and get a good job so you can take care of me when I am old and cranky." I sniffled, turning to her. "You are always cranky."

My mother laughed off my comment, tucking her black hair behind her ear for the seventh time that day. I could not tell if she was nervous about the situation I had put myself in, but things happen, y' know. This was the second death I had been involved in within the last few days. My teacher was a bitch. My friend was dead. My enemy was crazy. There was not much to do with such a simple lifestyle.

"You need to get your haircut. It has been past your neck for the past few days. You are starting to look like a girl."

"What is wrong with looking like a girl?" I asked, mimicking my mother's movements. Anyone who ever thought the long loose hair was for girls has never laid eyes on me. My hair was mostly curly, untamed, but I would keep it in a nice ponytail. I remember when I was a kid, the little brats in my class would always pull it. One day, I cried to my mom about it. She said, "That's not manly. I don't raise babies 'round here." Adobe's grandma did not react the same way. Her reaction was more along the lines of 'it's okay, talking it out is the best way', the peaceful approach.

The next day, I was suspended for beating up the bullies. Adobe had tagged along too, but he did not stand in the corner for an hour. Instead, his grandma babied him into the cute kid that everyone loved. Now he's dead.

I wiped my nose, pulling at the tips of my hair. "Okay. I'll cut my hair tomorrow."