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Mafia - creative writing essay

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Moin Latif, 11s English, Mafia. That word, what does it mean? It reminds me of Black Death, cold murder, of pitiless, heartless people who don't understand the meaning of life. Life is another one of those tricky words just like Mafia, yet the words are inevitably associated with each other, although they are different in context. The story which I am going to tell you will give you a view on those heartbreaking words that are indescribeable. My name is Roberto Gambino. I am thirteen years old and I once lived on the south coast of Italy, right next to Sicily. The city which I lived in was highly populated with Sicilians who escaped Sicily as refuges because of the war there amongst different Mafia Clans. So the market place on a Saturday was always jam packed with Sicilian refugees. My cousins and relatives lived quite far from me so I wasn't bored on the weekends. I couldn't visit them on the weekdays, so weekends were always packed with a happy exchange of news and gossip. My family includes one brother. He is called Pacassio Gambino and is twenty-one years old; he is mostly with my papa, who owns a private business exporting guns. The Warehouse where the guns are stored was turned from an old factory, which initially made coffee. This was why the old warehouse smelled rich like antique furniture. ...read more.


Next to this was the Spanish class which was Mr George's class. This was a pine door with a silver plated sign that read 'Mr George', next to this was the English room. And the teacher in this class was Mr Antonio the door was similar but read the name of the teacher. After break the day went fairly quickly because we had PE and soon it was lunch. For lunch I had pasta, sweetcorn, tuna and a can of 'Coca Cola'. Then it was time for English, which lasted all afternoon. After school I ran all the way home, not even stopping for a breath of fresh air. I felt extremely excited and satisfied with the Playstation transaction. As I swung open the gate to my house I encountered an Italian man. He was extraordinarily tall; he was probably thrise my size, with a big black moustache. He grabbed me by the back of my neck, squeezing his fingers tightly around my neck in a firm grip. And using his other hand directly covered my mouth so I couldn't shout, he dragged me inside where all my family were sitting, except my papa and my older brother. No passer-by would see me struggle because of the long, brown, high, wooden fences around the house. As I entered the house I was met by my mother,who was sitting on the green sofa which reminded me of relief or the fact I was comfortable in the space of my home with my family. ...read more.


And they had given him a message that said,"We will give you your money later". When he had refused they decided to take it out on us. As I heard the words 'Italian Mafia" I understood the fact the three men had been dressed this way. The police charged my papa with murder as he had killed the three men. He is currently serving a sentence in a prison in Rome. My brother suffers from permanent brain damage and will live in a private nursing home for the rest of his life. My younger sister and I are living with my grand parents in London, England. I suppose I still got to live in England, although it was all for the wrong reasons. As far as the business is concerned it was set alight by the Italian Mafia, as was the house we lived in. My cousins and relatives in Italy have since all moved out of the area because of 'The Gambino' reputation. I don't know whether the remainder of my family will get away from the Italian Mafia, or whether the Italian Police can ever put a stop to this violence and the suffering of innocent people. The story may make you understand why I hold these views about the Mafia. I always wonder at night about whether they will come for my sister and me but as these people or, should I say animals, have torn my family apart I don't suffer in fear of them. My only fear is whether I will ever see the remainder of my family again. ...read more.

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