When I was in 5th grade, my very first and good friend Blake died. I grew up in a small town called Geneseo, KS. We had a gang started by Blake's older brother. It was really all fun and games until it got serious.. The neighboring town of Lyons, KS had a gang also. Apparently they had heard about us and decided to 'scare' us. Well, they cruised by and started yelling at us, calling us faggots and little bitches. Blake's brother didn't like this at all, so he went to Lyons and beat up one of them. About a week after that, they cruised by once again... This time they shot at us. Most of us were lucky enough to find cover, but Blake.. He just stood there and stared at them, I don't know why and I never will... He got shot twice as they cruised along, he laid there.. So stiff, with a look on his face I'll never forget. He was my best friend, we'd done everything together. But, that night took everything away from him. I'd give anything for me to have been in his place. He was going places, he had an agenda, unlike me. To this day I still look up to him... R.I.P Blake Smith.