My mother always told me to mind my own business.
The neighbourhood wasn't the safest, but it's where I was brought up. Every morning, I would kiss my mother on the cheek and ride my blue bike to school. My mother allowed me to ride my bike to school once I turned ten.
This particular day, I begged my mother to drive me to school since my legs were hurting from soccer the day before.
My mother persisted that she had too much work to do around the house. Without a fight, I took my bike out of the garage and went on my merry way, hoping that the pain wouldn't persist.
On my way, I saw something that I had never seen before. Down below the sidewalk, right next to a huge boulder, I saw what looked like a body.
Looking around and not seeing anyone, I walked my bike down the steep hill to the matter of concern. It was in fact a body.
The boulder that caught my eye had blood splattered and dripping down its side. I looked at the body of the young boy, probably a few years older than me, and noticed he wasn't breathing at all.
Further down from where he lay was a red bike. It looked so much better than my own. It was one of the best bikes I had ever seen. Without thinking, I took that bike, left mine in its place, and went to school.
Ten years later, I still regret doing that. The judge never considered listening to my story. The judge figured we were gang affiliated and I had killed him...a ten year old kid.
Hopefully, when I'm out next year, I can ride my bike again.