Personal Narrative Essay: The Cause Of Gang Violence

The woman’s face was bloody; she cried for help, and at that time, all I could do was yell for my mother from the comfort of my home. This was a scene I never that I’d have to witness in front of my house. Her body crumpled to the ground, I remember before this, she had staggered by my house as me and my sister were playing and asked to use our house phone. Of course, at that time, my sisters and I hysterically asked our mother phone if she could use the phone, she said yes. The woman looked like she was in rush as she punched in the numbers, but I don’t remember if there was ever a response. I remember before she left, she tearfully said her thanks before she was found by the other women. After that incident, I remember that a small part of

I remember during my first year of middle school there were some boys who had talked about gangs. I asked curiously, “What are gangs?” They quickly became quiet, but I was left there still wondering. I wouldn’t really understand until a couple of years later. By then I was a cynical little girl, gangs, I would later learn, were a group of people in a criminal organization. Some people I knew would grow up to be in a gang; while I was studying for the SAT and doing homework, they were smoking marijuana and robbing stores. “Gangs aren’t all bad,” I heard a girl who rode my bus say one day. I was in a state of utter disbelief; I thought, “How could you think that?” She doesn’t go to school anymore; sometimes I wonder where she could’ve went, but then I just continue to study, as apathetic as that sounds. In my neighborhood, there are a few people that I’d call success stories that have failed. These people all work hard to get out of this neighborhood to go to the big universities like the University of Texas or Texas A & M, but they all become lackadaisical and fail their first semester. I hope that I’ll become a success story that actually stays a