La Banda de Los Hermanos

Detta är kapitel 1, eller ja, ett skelett/en grund till kapitel 1 av "Marcado de por vida", alltså det som kommer efter prologen ;) Som jag så fint döpt till "La banda de los hermanos" vilket ungefär betyder "The band of brothers", titeln har lite olika innebörder för resten av storyn.

Som vanligt, detta är inte det slutgiltiga resultatet. Det kommer göras om massvis med gånger så det kan finnas en hel del fel här i just nu. Jag lägger upp en bild på hur jag menar att de gör "djävulstecknet" det var då lite klurigt att beskriva med ord. Men enjoy!

It was evening and the members, homies, of the Mara Salvatrucha gang also known as MS-13, held a burial ceremony for my brother at one of the small funeral halls which belonged to a few priests who had decided to voluntarily take care of ceremonies like these.

For each death caused to/in this strange family of brothers and sisters the members hated their enemies more. After this night the number of murders would escalate, more blood would be spilled for what had been done to their homie. It was their duty to make the enemy pay for what he had done.

A ceremony like this was purely based on the respect for life and death. A member had sacrificed himself in order to save others. It was the most respected thing you could do for your gang.

Hardly being able to breathe in the overly hot and crowded room the homies put their clinched fists together side by side and with their index fingers pointing up in the air and let their hands rest in front of their foreheads making it look like they had horns. This was the infamous devil sign.

With mad faces they sobbed and grieved. Maybe some of them feared the day they would lie still in a place like this having their brothers and sisters remember them as a hero?

One after another they reached over the white coffin my brother had been put to rest in. It had a glass window for his face to be shown. The gang had walked around the neighborhood collecting money for the coffin, the rest of the money they had been able to raise they had tried to give to my grandmother as a “we are so sorry for your loss” present. You should have seen her face when they came to our house. My grandmother is in her late 70s but she's not afraid of anything. At the door she yelled at them:

“I ain't scare of all of you inked faces. I've lived through the civil war! There's nothing that scares me now-a-days!” And then added. “So get the HELL out of my house!”

With surprised faces they left with the few dollars they had collected. When she caught me laughing my eyes out in the kitchen she said with a mad look:

“And what are you laughing at you little sneak?!”

There's a lot of fire in my grandmother. When me and my brother were younger she used to ask what would happen to us if she wasn't around.

A young woman made her way to the coffin. I could tell she'd been crying for quiet some time because her eyes were all red. She leaned over the coffin while sobbing my brother's name. I guessed that was Victor's girlfriend Luna. He hadn't talked much about her but I knew enough to understand that must be her because none of the other women in the room sobbed like her.

Then a tall, normally built man stepped forward and placed himself in front of the coffin. It was their leader, ranflero, Diablo. All the noises died and everyone turned their attention to him.

My brother had died just before his 22^nd birthday. He'd spent most part of his teen years being a Mara, a member of the MS-13. Just a few days ago we had invented plans together. In the dim light of the bedside lamp we'd pictured ourselves going somewhere in the dark green Chevrolet Victor had inherited from our father. Together we would get away from El Salvador. Maybe as far as America. His words were simple:

“The world is just standing there right in front of us waiting for two men like you and me to discover it. There's nothing stopping us.”

Diablo cleared his throat.

“We all know why we're here tonight, to celebrate the death of a brother. A brother who gave his life to the gang so that the rest of us could walk freely. This kind of homie deserves our uttermost respect. May he rest in peace.” He ended his speech with the devils horn and in a choir they all chanted:

“For the Mara Salvatrucha.”

After this the ceremony was pretty much over. I made my way out of the room to get some fresh air. Something in me, like an instinct, told me I belonged to these “homies”. It felt weird. I was nothing like them. Sure, the weapons they carried and the free life they were living excited me. What twelve year old boy wouldn't find those things interesting?

“Small boy!” A voice behind me said. I almost shit my pants. Damn it, I was always such a day-dreamer.

“Yeah?” I turned around.

Diablo was staring at me from a few feet distance. His face was harsh and some parts of it was covered in large tattoos.

“You're Amarillo's brother, right?”

I nodded. I didn't dare to talk to this guy. He looked dead crazy.

“Come here.” He gestured with his hand for me to join him.

While moving my body in his direction I felt like I was walking towards my own death. Every part of me was stiffening. When I was close enough he put his arm around my shoulder.

“I'm glad you came little brother. Let's sit over here.” He walked me over to a bench on the other side of the small road.

“It must be hard for you.” He said when we had been seated. “Losing a brother when you're so young.”

I looked down at my hands resting on my knee. Suddenly I felt like crying. I hardly ever cry, it's not in my nature to but now I did. The tears just seemed to stream down my face without there being a stop to them.

“It's okay chico.”

“No it's not.” I sobbed sounding even more pathetic then when I was just keeping quiet crying.

“You know, I lost my brother too. I still remember how I felt about it.”

“Did you cry too?”

“I did. Off course. You should cry when a brother dies. It's normal.”

I wanted nothing more right now than to lie in my bed having my brother tell me one of his crazy stories of his life as a Mara.

“I'm just angry with why he had to die.” I began drying my wet cheeks with the back of my hands.

“I know chico.” He pulled me to him and embraced me. “It's okay.” He kissed my head then released his grip on me to look into my eyes. “If there's anything you need I'm here for you. You can come to me anytime you want chico. You're one of us now.”

Muy contento! Författarverkstad

Jag är så lycklig just nu, känner mig som en världsmästare i författar vm eller något?!
Tänk om min lilla baby verkligen kunde bli en riktig bok?! Gaaaah!!
Estoy muy contento ^^
Och nu har jag döpt om den också från "In it for life" till "Marcado de por vida" vilket betyder "Marked for life" med "undertexten" Once you're in, you're in it for life.

Åh jag ryser av lycka! Nu vill jag sitta och redigera en massa kapitel och snygga till, lägga till, göra om, börja om, utöka. :D


PS. Alldeles överlycklig sprang jag ner med datorn för att visa min familj vad jag lyckats åstadkomma. Men ja, då ligger mor och sover och pappa ska iväg på något och lillebror sover också. Man bara, Sacha vill du se? Suck....

Es esta la gran final

Yay, fick till slutscenen, det var ett tag sen jag skrev på mitt MS gäng "Los Hermanos." Jag har egentligen skrivit ett annat slut, men då hade jag inte listat ut vem som var Chicos brors riktige mördare. Nu har jag det och då blir det här hämndfulla slutet så mycket bättre.
Jag älskar också att jag kommit på något som inte var menat att vara symboliskt men som blev det. El Diablo (Oscar, Los Hermanos ledaren) betyder "djävulen" på spanska, Chico heter egentligen Angel vilket är en form av Angelo som betyder ängel. Djävulen/satan vs en ängel (Gud) ja, det är ju helt underbart perfekt! Wow.
Nu till slutet, i slutet har Chico vuxit till sig och har förstått att det inte finns något för honom i MS. Med hjälp av MS legenden Arcangel har han förstått vem som är hans brors verkliga mördare. Han har nu bestämt sig för att hämnas sin brors och El Jokers död, men måste även han dö på kuppen för att han inte kan leva ett liv på rymmen från Los Hermanos gänget när han väl genomför sin hämnd. (Än så länge är det bara en A4:a, men det ska bli mkt längre, hopefully) Jag älskar att jag kommit på vem som står i dörröppningen när Chico skjuter, så jäkla highscore!!

”This is it then? Es esta la gran final? (=is this the grand final)” He chuckled, his eyes black like the depth of *Lago de Coatepeque (* en sjö i san salvador). Diablo had grown up without feeling fear. Like all members the gang had fostered him to leave behind any feelings related to fear and love? This had resulted in great hubris as he no longer bothered death, to take another mans life was nothing to worry about anymore. He thought too highly of himself, always believing his homies would take his bullets. But what if they didn't for once, what if they had realized that this was not the way of life, like I had. There was nothing glorious about being a part of Los Hermanos or MS.
“I know you did it.” I said, with one hand on the gun in my pocket.
I hated him. He'd taken everything from me, everything that had ever mattered. It was all gone and it didn't mean a thing to him because I was just one out of his army of men willing to worship him like a God.
He snorted and rolled his eyes.
“Have you gone all loco Chico?” He threw up his arms. “Come here.”
I stood where my feet had been placed since I stepped into the room. I was not his to boss around with anymore, I was my own self now, with my own head to think with. I wouldn't listen to his bullshit, praising like he was Jesus in human form. That was in the past now.
“I don't understand you Chico. Yesterday you were my brother now, you are my enemy?”
I looked into his eyes. He looked confused but I knew hat deep down inside of him he was just playing with me. Inside him the devil was sleeping only until it was time for it to wake up and make its move. It would kill me if I misbehaved.
“You are like a brother to me Chico, like a REAL brother, like I was to El Maquina* (Diablos döde bror, exledare av Los Hermanos) was to me.”
“You're not my brother. Victor was my brother!”
“Chico you have simply gone mad.”
“Don't call me Chico my name's Angel. My mother named me that because in her eyes I was a Gabriel a Raphael a Michael.”
“(What you're saying I cant here.) I am your family Chico and I decide what my children are called. Not some old hag who couldn't deal with her own.”
I felt the fire in me come alive/ to life. You could spit on me but you didn't talk trash about my family, you just didn't, even angels had demons in them. And it burst open, freed itself from my chest and attacked its enemy like a burning red dragon. Its tail swung in the air in front of me and I pulled the gun out of my jeans pocket, aimed it with steady hands towards my opponent. I wasn't scared, I didn't wet my pants nor did my fingers tremble this time. I had learned how to become an assassin by the man in front of me and now the same man would face his penalty for the lives he'd taken and destroyed.
“What the FUCK you think you doing Chico?! Tu eres loco! (=du är galen) You know what this means.” He stood up from his so called throne.
I knew exactly what this meant.
“You're a pussy Oscar. Nothing but a PUSSY! You can't stand people telling you you're wrong. You just kill them like they were flies. Just like you did with Joker* (ex medlem), just like you did with Victor* (Chicos döde bror & ex medlem)!”
Diablo looked through his pockets but couldn't seem to find anything.
“So the devil is unarmed when his life is at stake. And where are your brothers when you really need them?”
I cocked the gun. It was now or never, there would be no second chances. I knew that when my demon had slayed the devil there would be no turning back, nor would there be a life worth living for me, not all could live like Arcangel, but at least I would have my revenge and that was what was worth it in the end. I couldn't go back to my grandmother I would be on a constant run, there would be no where to run and that was not a proper life. The homies would hunt me like bloodhounds and once I was found they'd shoot me dead.
I pulled the trigger, the bullet flew out from the muzzle. I saw the smoke, I saw everything in slow motion but too late did I see the dark figure appearing in the door. Too late did I see the figure pull its gun and fire.

Spääännande va ;) hehe

Skrivande och Musik

Musiken är en väldigt (om inte enormt!) viktig del av mitt skrivandet, det måste vara rätt låtar, sound, för att jag ska kunna komma in i scener, karaktärers tankesätt, situationer, känslor, etc. Utan musiken skulle jag inte kunna skriva på det sätt jag gör.
Bara för skojs skull delar jag med mig av min speciella spellista för "The Salvadorian in My Heart/In it For Life" (som den ser ut just nu):


01. Rumba - Daddy Yankee
02. Pa-kum-pa - Daddy Yankee
03. Infinito - Daddy Yankee
04. Somos de calle - Daddy Yankee
05. City of the Padres - El Dyablo
06. Killas (ft. The Game & Ice Cube) - Lil' Jon
07. Tu eres mi baby - Nicky Jam & Daddy Yankee
08. Live your life (remix) - Pitbull
09. Sensacion Del Bloque - Randy & De La Ghetto
10. 56 Barz - T.I.
11. Ready for whatever - T.I.
12 On top of the world (ft. Ludacris & B.O.B) - T.I.
13. Live your life (ft. Rihanna) - T.I.
14. Whats up whats haappnin - T.I.
15. Every chance I get - T.I.
16. You aint missin nothing - T.I.
17. Dead and gone (ft. Timberlake) - T.I.
18. El Heroe de mi Corazon - Tercer Cielo
19. La Calle - Tercer Cielo
20. My life (ft. Slim Thug & Trae) - Chamillionare
21. Only God can judge me - 2Pac
22. All eyez on me - 2Pac
23. Keep ya head up - 2Pac
24. Changes - 2Pac
25. Staring through my rearview - 2Pac
26. Atrevete-Te - Calle13

^^

El Chico

My name was Ángel Martínez. My mother had insisted on giving me that name before birth, because she said God had sent me to her. But I was no angel, nor had I ever been close to heaven.
They called me Chico, because I was the youngest. I knew my brother would never have wanted me to join them. He tried so hard many times when he was still alive, to get me off the streets, to not end up with them like he had. But a bullet from our enemies killed him, took his life away from all of us with a swoosh. I didn't cry, but they tattoed a tear beneath my left eye. I knew right away I had to get my revenge. I had to kill for my brothers death.
I would remember him everytime I looked into the mirror. They all said I looked like him. I had his light brown eyes, those that smiled with a sad expression. I didn't want to see him whenever I caught my reflection. I wanted to see me, to see Chico - the great warrior.
He had told me many times that Diablo was a bad person, that he really lived up to his name. Diablo had his underlings El Lagrima - with 2Pacs words "Only God Can Judge Me" tattoed across his chest and Asesino - with a scared eye, by his side 24/7. And how intimidated Diablo may have seemed to others, with his tattoed body and harsh face, he had not scared me. I was no cowered and he saw that in me, so he took me in like a big brother should. He nursed me but he also taught me how to be tough, tougher than just any regular street thug. He said, if I followed his examples correctly and didn't back down for anything, I would became the great Chico everyone would fear.
Together the family I now belonged to stole from the poor and killed when they didn't give us what we wanted. We killed with our hand-made guns and machetes. I had once feared death when my brother died but this was almost nothing compared to that. This was another type of death. I decided when their lives would end, always knowing in the back of my mind he wasn't proud of me, not him or God. I knew he had turned his back on me the day I became one of them, the day I let them kick and punch me til I coughed blood.
My given name didn't suit the new me.. but my mother couldn't have known, could she? She should have named me El Feira - the beast.

And so Casper couldn't be saved

YUMM-----YYYYY!

Jag minns att Oprah hade ett program om olika kriminella gäng, som jag såg för flera år sedan. MS 13 var ett av gängen. Sedan det programmet har MS 13 etsat sig fast i mitt huvud. Världens farligaste gäng, från bla. Mexiko, San Salvador etc. Det kryllar av de i filmen Sin Nombre, me like (de är snygga, men farliga!)

Igår såg jag en dokumentär vid namn "18 with a bullet" som handlar om MS 13's största rivaler MS 18. I första delen av tre, fick man följa ett gäng boendes i San Salvador. Medlemmarna var knappt äldre än min lillebror, det var hemskt att se dessa föräldralösa barn bilda sin egna familj i form av gänget 18, i världens farligaste stad. Ledaren Charlie var bara 16år.

Försöker få tag på en annan dokumentär nu La Vida Loca - om MS 13 gänget.