What's Your Next-Door Neighbor Story? http://www.smithmag.net/ndn_contest/ Submit a next-door neighbor story—one story will be transformed into the final installment of our webcomic series, "Next-Door Neighbor":http://www.smithmag.net/nextdoorneighbor. en-us Copyright 2014 Smithmag.net Larry Smith RSS 2.0 generation class http://blogs.law.harvard.edu/tech/rss <![CDATA[ Whenever I say I grew up in the Bronx, people want to know about the summer of 1977: The Yankees, The Blackout, Son of Sam. But none of those compared to The Great Voodoo War of 1979. <br /> <br /> My family had been the first Latin family to move into our apartment building. So when two other Latin families finally moved in on either side of us, we thought we'd have allies. We were wrong. <br /> <br /> It started with cursing. But not, "Fuck you asshole," or even, "Come mierda, marcon." These were invocations for barren wombs, incurable diarrhea, brain tumors and more diarrhea, hurled through open windows day and night. Next, there were objects placed at their doors: A triangle of pennies sprinkled with white powder. Dead black flowers. Chicken feet neatly tied with red string. <br /> <br /> Then one day I came home from school and saw a skinned, crucified mouse taped to the Morales's door. I showed it to my mom and she ran to the Garcia's door and yelled, "You have to stop. It's not sanitary. Children play in this hall!" A voice told my mother to mind her business or she'd be next. <br /> <br /> The Morales's moved out that night, hurling venom upon the Garcias and everyone else in the building. My mom said, "Somebody's got to do something." She went into the bedroom, opened her Bible and started reading it out the window, non-stop, all night. Between that and the Garcias yelling back at her, no one got much sleep. But the next morning, we found out the Garcias too, had gone. <br /> <br /> As I was about to leave bleary-eyed for school, my mom asked me to take out the garbage. In the alleyway were pieces of paper strewn all over the concrete. I looked closer and realized they were pages torn from the Bible. I looked up and saw our bedroom window between what had been the Morales's and Garcia's windows. Not only had my mother spoken the Word of God, she hurled it at them. <br /> <br /> And so The Voodoo War of 1979 was stopped by something no curse has power over: the fury of a Latina mom. And even though she felt bad for tearing up the Word of God, I thought it was kind of cool. She had Sinead O'Connor beat by a whole 13 years. My mom was a true punk! ]]> http://www.smithmag.net/ndn_contest/story.php?did=14437 What's Your Next-Door Neighbor Story? by MicheleC MicheleC http://www.smithmag.net/ndn_contest/story.php?did=14437 SMITH