A gun or a phone: Mo faces life or death decision

Mo is 16, a tall boy who looks like he was sculpted by angels. He has light skin, hazel eyes and wears his hair in waves.

I was sitting on my bed, contemplating my next step.

My hands were trembling. I didn’t have anyone to talk to. She makes me so mad. She doesn’t even believe in me. I started to sweat, and my brain throbbed with thought.

My mom knocked on the door, her fist pounding the cherry wood material of this home she rented in Shaker Heights.

We moved here after she got a higher-paid position to try and move us out of the city. I was born in Compton, California, but we moved to Cleveland when I was young.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?” I yelled. I answered with such animosity, as she was the person I was mad at.

She stood behind the door, spitting the most hateful words. “You won’t amount to anything,” she said. “I should have aborted you.”

My body became brittle to the verbal beating I had just received. I glance at the .48-caliber handgun on my dresser. It was the gun my dad used to lay under his pillow.

Thinking of him made me hurt internally. I wasn’t prepared for losing my father when I did. He died because of random street violence. It’s been two years and the case still isn’t solved. It’s like nobody cares about that, but I do.

I got closer to the weapon that I thought could relieve me of this agony. My mom is still outside the door talking and putting me down.

I had my cellphone nearby. My best friend’s number was just a click away. Yet the gun was calling out my name. Life or death was in one hand or the other. I had to choose.

I was listening to Motown music flow out of the speakers. The song that was playing was “There Will Never Be Any Peace (Until God is Seated at the Conference Table)” by the Chi-Lites.

It was the type of soulful sound I liked. The music speaks on to how you need God in your life in order to succeed and feel happy.

The words of God, were they speaking from the radio? And were the words of the devil speaking from the gun? I was being torn between life and death.

Decision A

I decided not to do it. I called my friend and she calmed me down. If I did this, she told me, I’d have no chance of making it to heaven.

Decision B

[This is from the perspective of Mo’s mother]

As I walked through the doorway, I observed my son Mo’s room. I looked to my right and I saw a shiny .48-caliber with residue of blood. I turned to the left and saw a trail leading to Mo’s body. I dropped to my knees and started screaming. “Why?”

[This story was originally published by Cleveland.com.]