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SECOND CHANCE || Chapter 9

Aaron’s words rang in my head; I wished I were as strong as he thought I was.

But I also understood the image of Razor was beyond me. Sometime during the “war”, my life had exceeded beyond just my life, and sacrificed into a higher cause. The crew chose a little girl name Kelly Perez, and molded her into the icon named Razor – an innocent little girl victimized by social injustice, and when she’s had enough, she struck back. I became Razor, the martyr that the street kids can relate to, and the idol that they should look up to – I was a propaganda of war.

But that was what Razor is – an icon, not a person. No one person can have total conviction as myths and legends depict.

But I – we – never figured that hundreds of kids would run into the blood soaked streets, screaming Razor’s name on their last breaths.

Obviously, there was something about Razor’s story that pierced into their hearts – a little girl who always kept a razor hidden under her tongue because too many things have happened – her story was too familiar. Perhaps it was the universal plights of street kids, and the realization that they were not alone; it was more than enough to unite helpless, hopeless, and defenseless kids everywhere.

Then, everyone jumped on the bandwagon of courage.

Razor was the typical street kid, born and bred inside the “system,” a victim of the broken society, a casualty of the unrecognized civil war, and a result of the awoken human instincts of courage and ambition. Even as I, Kelly Perez, mature and change through time, Razor will always remain the same. And it was precisely my duty to keep Razor’s image as a reminder of reality, of the defects of society, and of encouragement that it doesn’t have to be this way. It was my obligation to society, to those who call my name from beyond the grave as well as those who call as they strike; it was my retaliation and my redemption.

I shall see to it. I thought as I climbed off my bed.

=====

JD met with me on the account that I had something to offer him. He met me at the high school, and we chatted in his car. Then, he drove away, and I returned to school after a week of suspension.

School was boring as usual, but my heart continued to pound in anticipation. I waited impatiently; I was so impatient that I almost jumped the gun. But fortunately, I was able to hold back my fist until the insults left his lips. The poor boy taunted me without realizing I had been waiting to do what he thought I never would.

He lied with his back on the ground, and I straddle on his chest, drawing blood with my fist. And I didn’t stop until hands grabbed me and pulled me to my feet.

I looked at the poor boy as they pressed me against the lockers: The poor boy was frightened and confused, clueless that he was part of a greater cause beyond his comprehension; silently, I thanked him for his sacrifice.

“You want to go to jail so bad?” Cohen yelled into my ear as he continued to press my body against the cold metal. “Fine!”

He took my arm and twisted it behind my back before locking the handcuffs. “You just ruined your second chance.” He told me.

“I’m not looking for a second chance.” I said under my breath. “I’m looking for another victory.”

Then, I felt it – Cohen's hesitation as he held my restrained wrists in his hands; and I knew right away that he understood. But, in another moment, he escorted me to his car, as if nothing happened.

The traffic on the highway had us starting and stopping before coming to a total halt. I looked out the fenced window and into that of the white car beside us. I found myself looking into the eyes of the boy sitting in the backseat. As his eyes met mine, his smile gradually disappeared, and my eyes started to sting. Finally I couldn’t help but looked down upon my bare lap – bare because my hands were cuffed behind my back. It wasn’t soon enough the traffic started again and the white car passed us, with the boy’s eyes still following me until they went completely out into the horizon. Somehow it was until they disappeared that I had the courage to look up again.

“You talked to Rick?” I asked without realizing I did.

“Yeah.” I was surprised that Cohen actually answered.

“Was, um...” I pretended to look out the fenced window to avoid his eyes on the rear view mirror. “Was he mad?”

“No, he wasn’t angry.” Cohen corrected softly. “He seemed sadder than he seemed angry.”

I didn’t say anything else. I wondered where that boy was going with his family, and my eyes started to sting again. I struggled and squirmed, but the handcuffs cut deeper into my wrists.

At the entrance of the juvenile detention center, Cohen gave my name as Karly Mendez and identified himself as my probation officer. When the intake officer said he couldn’t find my file, Cohen explained by telling him where we were from, for everyone knew the chaos of the “war” had destroyed most documents and records. Then, all the cops stopped what they were doing, and turned to stare at me as though I had suddenly turned into the most hardcore criminal. When the intake officer verified Cohen as a recently transferred officer, he accepted our story, and passed me as a probation offender.

“Take her to HRO.” The intake officer told the guard behind him.

I smiled. When Cohen understood why I was smiling, he was reluctant to let go of my arm. But the guard dragged me away with an exclusive pair of leg irons hanging over his shoulder. As I was taken away, I heard the intake officer continuing to ask Cohen questions about me; soon, several officers joined in, asking about “what actually happened there”, and of course, about the "Legend of Razor."

=====

They pushed me through the usual routines silently, assuming I was already familiar with the procedures. Even in the chaos, I could feel the eyes and whispers that trailed behind me; it was a mix of curiosity, envy, and disdain. And I realized word traveled even faster than I thought.

“You get to share a cell with the Ice Princess.” The guard said as we walked through the blocks.

“The who?”

But the guard simply snickered. “Let’s see how long you last…”

“What’s that suppose to mean?”

The guard said nothing. The cellblock turned into an eerie silence when we arrived at the door of my cell. Inside, the girl jumped from the top bunk and landed on her feet. The guard next to me immediately took out his nightstick.

“Stay back, Ice.” He bellowed at the girl.

“Just wanna see the treat you brought me.” The girl said, her arms hanging over the bars of the cell. “But she ain’t even collared.”

The guard didn’t respond. He knocked his nightstick on the bars of the cell until the girl retreated to the back wall. With the club still in hand, the guard fished out his keys and unlocked the cell.

“You know the rules.” The guard said as he pushed me inside a cellblock and locked the barred gate behind him. “Don’t break them.”

I stood by the cell door, staring at the girl who was staring back from the back wall. The two of us seemed to be mirror images of each other: Straight long hair, petite, and blends into the shadows. Maybe that’s why the guards thought it’d be amusing to put us together.

“You got top bunk right?” I asked rhetorically, dumping my stuff on the lower bunk.

“I got both bunks.” The girl said as she approached me with her fist pumped.

“Well, guess you’d have to share.” I said when I stopped her fist with my open palm.

In the close distance I examined the collar around the girl’s neck. I couldn’t help but feel a bit humbled. Chrome collars were rare and rather serious, given to only those who could live up to the reputation.

“Whatchu looking at?” She hissed.

“They call you Ice?” I asked.

“Ice Princess.”

“Fancy name.” I smirked. “What’d you do?” I asked even though the collar told me.

“None of your business.” She said even though she knew her collar said all.

“I see.” I let go of her fist.

It took but a second for the girl to raise her fist again. And again, I caught it.

“Are we gonna do this all day?” I sighed.

“Not if you just stand there and take it.” Her fist was unyielding.

“Can’t do that.” I shook my head. After another moment, I sighed and let go of her. Before I could tell her not to do it again, she already raised her fist.

I caught her fist and twisted her arm behind her back. Gripping tightly onto both her wrists, I whispered into her ear.

“Just because I’m not collared doesn’t mean I can’t fight. It just means I’m good at not being caught.”

“You’re still here.” She sneered.

“Only ‘cause I want to be.” I whispered even more quietly.

The tough girl with the itching fist finally stopped struggling in my hands. Then, she said: “What they say is true then? You are from—”

“What’s your point?” I asked.

“Do you know Razor?”

There was that name again. I let go of the girl and turned to fixing my bunk. But the girl continued to stare at me.

“Why you ask?” I asked instead.

“Is it true?” She asked. “Is it true that Razor’s still alive?”

I looked up and saw the tough inmate had suddenly turned into a naïve little girl; I thought I saw a glimmer of hope in those dark eyes above the chrome collar.

“What’s it matter?” I looked away.

“Razor will get us out of this.”

“Out of what?” I asked, but the girl’s eyes had shifted.

I turned around to find the cell door sliding open. Another guard was standing at the door.

“Mendez, out.” He commanded.

I looked between him and the girl. Her eyes were avoiding mine. “What about Ice?”

“Chrome collars are in 23-hour lock down.” He said.

“What kinda stupid rule—”

With a swift movement he swung his club and struck my side. As I fell he grabbed my elbow and pulled me out of the cell. I only caught a glimpse of my cellmate before he struck me again.

“Disobey me again, and you will taste the full power of my club.” He struck one last time before another guard tore at my hair and dragged me down the block.

=====

When I returned, I found my cellmate hiding in the corner of the cell. On the lower bunk were some ruffled blood-stained sheets.

When I tried to approach the girl, she screamed.

“Get away from me!”

Hot blood rushed through my body when I realized this was what she wanted Razor to save her from. Behind us, sinister laughs surprised me. I sprung around to find the sadistic guard standing outside our cell again.

“What did you do to her?” I threw myself on the bars of the cell door.

He continued to laugh, knowing that I knew exactly what happened.

“Aren’t you a little firecracker? Maybe you and I should try it next time.” He stroked my face with his finger.

“Then open the cell if you dare.” I shook the bars of the cell like an animal ravaging its cage.

“And what are you going to after they catch you?” The guard sneered. “Two collared girls don’t amount to much credibility.”

“Do I look collared to you?”

“That could change.”

“Do it and you and your family will never know peace again, Joseph Milo Preston.” I growled through the bars.

“How did you--?”

“How are your little girls adjusting to their new school, Joseph?” I whispered through the bars and watched his face turned gray. Then, I added: “Threaten me again, and you will taste the full power of this little firecracker.”

When the sadistic guard finally left, I turned around to find my wide-eyed cellmate staring at me

“How did you--?”

“I have my sources.” I bent down to check on my cellmate. “You OK?”

“Isis.”

“What?”

“Isis.” She repeated. “My name is Isis.”

I smiled and hugged her close as she cried silently.

Description
SECOND CHANCE || Chapter 9

Aaron’s words rang in my head; I wished I were as strong as he thought I was.

But I also understood the image of Razor was beyond me. Sometime during the “war”, my life had exceeded beyond just my life, and sacrificed into a higher cause. The crew chose a little girl name Kelly Perez, and molded her into the icon named Razor – an innocent little girl victimized by social injustice, and when she’s had enough, she struck back. I became Razor, the martyr that the street kids can relate to, and the idol that they should look up to – I was a propaganda of war.

But that was what Razor is – an icon, not a person. No one person can have total conviction as myths and legends depict.

But I – we – never figured that hundreds of kids would run into the blood soaked streets, screaming Razor’s name on their last breaths.

Obviously, there was something about Razor’s story that pierced into their hearts – a little girl who always kept a razor hidden under her tongue because too many things have happened – her story was too familiar. Perhaps it was the universal plights of street kids, and the realization that they were not alone; it was more than enough to unite helpless, hopeless, and defenseless kids everywhere.

Then, everyone jumped on the bandwagon of courage.

Razor was the typical street kid, born and bred inside the “system,” a victim of the broken society, a casualty of the unrecognized civil war, and a result of the awoken human instincts of courage and ambition. Even as I, Kelly Perez, mature and change through time, Razor will always remain the same. And it was precisely my duty to keep Razor’s image as a reminder of reality, of the defects of society, and of encouragement that it doesn’t have to be this way. It was my obligation to society, to those who call my name from beyond the grave as well as those who call as they strike; it was my retaliation and my redemption.

I shall see to it. I thought as I climbed off my bed.

=====

JD met with me on the account that I had something to offer him. He met me at the high school, and we chatted in his car. Then, he drove away, and I returned to school after a week of suspension.

School was boring as usual, but my heart continued to pound in anticipation. I waited impatiently; I was so impatient that I almost jumped the gun. But fortunately, I was able to hold back my fist until the insults left his lips. The poor boy taunted me without realizing I had been waiting to do what he thought I never would.

He lied with his back on the ground, and I straddle on his chest, drawing blood with my fist. And I didn’t stop until hands grabbed me and pulled me to my feet.

I looked at the poor boy as they pressed me against the lockers: The poor boy was frightened and confused, clueless that he was part of a greater cause beyond his comprehension; silently, I thanked him for his sacrifice.

“You want to go to jail so bad?” Cohen yelled into my ear as he continued to press my body against the cold metal. “Fine!”

He took my arm and twisted it behind my back before locking the handcuffs. “You just ruined your second chance.” He told me.

“I’m not looking for a second chance.” I said under my breath. “I’m looking for another victory.”

Then, I felt it – Cohen's hesitation as he held my restrained wrists in his hands; and I knew right away that he understood. But, in another moment, he escorted me to his car, as if nothing happened.

The traffic on the highway had us starting and stopping before coming to a total halt. I looked out the fenced window and into that of the white car beside us. I found myself looking into the eyes of the boy sitting in the backseat. As his eyes met mine, his smile gradually disappeared, and my eyes started to sting. Finally I couldn’t help but looked down upon my bare lap – bare because my hands were cuffed behind my back. It wasn’t soon enough the traffic started again and the white car passed us, with the boy’s eyes still following me until they went completely out into the horizon. Somehow it was until they disappeared that I had the courage to look up again.

“You talked to Rick?” I asked without realizing I did.

“Yeah.” I was surprised that Cohen actually answered.

“Was, um...” I pretended to look out the fenced window to avoid his eyes on the rear view mirror. “Was he mad?”

“No, he wasn’t angry.” Cohen corrected softly. “He seemed sadder than he seemed angry.”

I didn’t say anything else. I wondered where that boy was going with his family, and my eyes started to sting again. I struggled and squirmed, but the handcuffs cut deeper into my wrists.

At the entrance of the juvenile detention center, Cohen gave my name as Karly Mendez and identified himself as my probation officer. When the intake officer said he couldn’t find my file, Cohen explained by telling him where we were from, for everyone knew the chaos of the “war” had destroyed most documents and records. Then, all the cops stopped what they were doing, and turned to stare at me as though I had suddenly turned into the most hardcore criminal. When the intake officer verified Cohen as a recently transferred officer, he accepted our story, and passed me as a probation offender.

“Take her to HRO.” The intake officer told the guard behind him.

I smiled. When Cohen understood why I was smiling, he was reluctant to let go of my arm. But the guard dragged me away with an exclusive pair of leg irons hanging over his shoulder. As I was taken away, I heard the intake officer continuing to ask Cohen questions about me; soon, several officers joined in, asking about “what actually happened there”, and of course, about the "Legend of Razor."

=====

They pushed me through the usual routines silently, assuming I was already familiar with the procedures. Even in the chaos, I could feel the eyes and whispers that trailed behind me; it was a mix of curiosity, envy, and disdain. And I realized word traveled even faster than I thought.

“You get to share a cell with the Ice Princess.” The guard said as we walked through the blocks.

“The who?”

But the guard simply snickered. “Let’s see how long you last…”

“What’s that suppose to mean?”

The guard said nothing. The cellblock turned into an eerie silence when we arrived at the door of my cell. Inside, the girl jumped from the top bunk and landed on her feet. The guard next to me immediately took out his nightstick.

“Stay back, Ice.” He bellowed at the girl.

“Just wanna see the treat you brought me.” The girl said, her arms hanging over the bars of the cell. “But she ain’t even collared.”

The guard didn’t respond. He knocked his nightstick on the bars of the cell until the girl retreated to the back wall. With the club still in hand, the guard fished out his keys and unlocked the cell.

“You know the rules.” The guard said as he pushed me inside a cellblock and locked the barred gate behind him. “Don’t break them.”

I stood by the cell door, staring at the girl who was staring back from the back wall. The two of us seemed to be mirror images of each other: Straight long hair, petite, and blends into the shadows. Maybe that’s why the guards thought it’d be amusing to put us together.

“You got top bunk right?” I asked rhetorically, dumping my stuff on the lower bunk.

“I got both bunks.” The girl said as she approached me with her fist pumped.

“Well, guess you’d have to share.” I said when I stopped her fist with my open palm.

In the close distance I examined the collar around the girl’s neck. I couldn’t help but feel a bit humbled. Chrome collars were rare and rather serious, given to only those who could live up to the reputation.

“Whatchu looking at?” She hissed.

“They call you Ice?” I asked.

“Ice Princess.”

“Fancy name.” I smirked. “What’d you do?” I asked even though the collar told me.

“None of your business.” She said even though she knew her collar said all.

“I see.” I let go of her fist.

It took but a second for the girl to raise her fist again. And again, I caught it.

“Are we gonna do this all day?” I sighed.

“Not if you just stand there and take it.” Her fist was unyielding.

“Can’t do that.” I shook my head. After another moment, I sighed and let go of her. Before I could tell her not to do it again, she already raised her fist.

I caught her fist and twisted her arm behind her back. Gripping tightly onto both her wrists, I whispered into her ear.

“Just because I’m not collared doesn’t mean I can’t fight. It just means I’m good at not being caught.”

“You’re still here.” She sneered.

“Only ‘cause I want to be.” I whispered even more quietly.

The tough girl with the itching fist finally stopped struggling in my hands. Then, she said: “What they say is true then? You are from—”

“What’s your point?” I asked.

“Do you know Razor?”

There was that name again. I let go of the girl and turned to fixing my bunk. But the girl continued to stare at me.

“Why you ask?” I asked instead.

“Is it true?” She asked. “Is it true that Razor’s still alive?”

I looked up and saw the tough inmate had suddenly turned into a naïve little girl; I thought I saw a glimmer of hope in those dark eyes above the chrome collar.

“What’s it matter?” I looked away.

“Razor will get us out of this.”

“Out of what?” I asked, but the girl’s eyes had shifted.

I turned around to find the cell door sliding open. Another guard was standing at the door.

“Mendez, out.” He commanded.

I looked between him and the girl. Her eyes were avoiding mine. “What about Ice?”

“Chrome collars are in 23-hour lock down.” He said.

“What kinda stupid rule—”

With a swift movement he swung his club and struck my side. As I fell he grabbed my elbow and pulled me out of the cell. I only caught a glimpse of my cellmate before he struck me again.

“Disobey me again, and you will taste the full power of my club.” He struck one last time before another guard tore at my hair and dragged me down the block.

=====

When I returned, I found my cellmate hiding in the corner of the cell. On the lower bunk were some ruffled blood-stained sheets.

When I tried to approach the girl, she screamed.

“Get away from me!”

Hot blood rushed through my body when I realized this was what she wanted Razor to save her from. Behind us, sinister laughs surprised me. I sprung around to find the sadistic guard standing outside our cell again.

“What did you do to her?” I threw myself on the bars of the cell door.

He continued to laugh, knowing that I knew exactly what happened.

“Aren’t you a little firecracker? Maybe you and I should try it next time.” He stroked my face with his finger.

“Then open the cell if you dare.” I shook the bars of the cell like an animal ravaging its cage.

“And what are you going to after they catch you?” The guard sneered. “Two collared girls don’t amount to much credibility.”

“Do I look collared to you?”

“That could change.”

“Do it and you and your family will never know peace again, Joseph Milo Preston.” I growled through the bars.

“How did you--?”

“How are your little girls adjusting to their new school, Joseph?” I whispered through the bars and watched his face turned gray. Then, I added: “Threaten me again, and you will taste the full power of this little firecracker.”

When the sadistic guard finally left, I turned around to find my wide-eyed cellmate staring at me

“How did you--?”

“I have my sources.” I bent down to check on my cellmate. “You OK?”

“Isis.”

“What?”

“Isis.” She repeated. “My name is Isis.”

I smiled and hugged her close as she cried silently.