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used to sleep with the light on. I did this because I feared if the battlefield was not illuminated, strewn with toys and shoes with no laces, that when I made an attempt to reach the safe zone that was my mother's bed, I wouldn't be able to evade malignant spirits. Malicious limbs reaching from under my bed, pulling me into a world with misleading houses made of candy where witches would make a meal out of me. It wasn't till I was about 11, did I realize that monsters aren't yellow eyed demons who take up residence in the farthest reaches of my basement. They aren't translucent entities, furry creatures with construction paper fangs who scrape the outside of my window in an attempt to communicate with whatever keeps whispering in my closet. You see, monsters are masters of camouflage, they don't levitate out of hell, they crawl out of bed. They wipe the cold from their eyes and kiss their children. They eat breakfast. They do so with a smile before they go hunting in the inner city, they feed their kids privilege. They strap a gun to their hip and walk right off a page of society's diary. This is a story that was never supposed to be read. The memoirs of a city that was raped and beaten. Police cruisers equipped with a sickle, navigating towards a dream to kill. I see you freddy. I smell gun smoke when you smile. Shapeshifter. You've made my neighborhood a cliche. Where is the directors? I think it's time to take 5. We're being over worked, under paid and to be honest officer, your killing us. There's to many screen plays being submitted with the same plot. Officers playing zombies, not feeling empathy, not showing compassion before they rip a little girl out of her father's arms, leaving her hanging off a branch, twisting, knowing without guidance in this field, she's gonna wither and bruise before she falls. See in this field, color isn't as relevant as a dresses. In this field, your already counted out before you auction for a chance to be something great.