Autobiography : Creative Writing

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Autobiography

Five years old.

Very young to be lost, especially in a block of flats in this area of the city. Over the last few years it had only gone from bad to worse. Stabbings were regular, as were burglaries, car theft and hundreds of other crimes that could go in a list that would take about ten people to carry it. Why Kevin lived here was beyond doubt. Not only was he a vulnerable old man, but even the strongest of people would be scared to live here, in this pathetic excuse which the government call housing. Luckily for him, this wasn’t the worse block in the neighbourhood, and it was inhabited most by senior citizens who he could relate to without going out into the jungle of crime that inner Birmingham was.

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This is my best description of the area to date, though I haven’t been there in years since he died, I have heard many stories, each depicting a bad event that had recently happened there. They are hardly shocking these stories, they were to begin with but not anymore, just regular happenings.

Anyway, visiting Kevin was a risk at the best of times. We always made sure that our journey was in during the day, and as short as possible as it was considerably safer. We got to the block called the ‘Regents House’ and walked cautiously to the ...

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