The night air was stale and reeked of grime and smoke. We were out patrolling our streets and ended up at The Block just like we usually do. The faded and flickering lights of the shops and street lamps are just bright enough to cover up the stars and the bright moon's glow. Rap music plays and gold chains swing. My gang and I are well known as we eat up anyone in our way. The Midway bar's sign shown through the dark and drew us in like a moth to a flame. The manager, Tom, hates us because of the trouble we cause but won't turn us away for the same reason. We spent most of the night indulging in cheap drinks;, the bar was obnoxiously loud and bright on the inside. I was almost pleased when a neighboring gang stumbled in. It didn't take long for a fight to break, a couple of shots fired, glasses broken and fists bleeding. It ended when my second, Dante, informed me that good old Tom called the police and we need to be on our way. The night ended as usual and I returned home to my dirty apartment on the rough side of town.
The sun filtered through the dirty beige curtains; its glow rivaled only by that of the television. "Bang, bang, bang!" The pounding on the door mingled with the light and gave birth to a terrible headache. The door had swung open by the time I found my gun. The man wandered through. The man is tall but sickly with a twisted pale face that contrasts my ashy dark complexion and what struck me as unusual about this scene was the wiggling blanket he cradled in his unfit arms. Those arms have never been able to hold on to anything. He never looks like how I remember him. His face always changes but his eyes never do no matter how much I wish they did. They always stayed dark and muddy just like mine. In this situation, my power is revoked. "What?!" I ask venomously, pistol pointed at his chest. "Don't pull that tone with me, boy!" The man scolds sternly but falters when the blankets in his arms stir, he looks down at it and his face changes as it reminds him of why he's here he speaks softly this time. "After this, you won't be seeing me for some time. I'm going up the river." The man's been waiting for to get back at me, no, not waiting, wanting. His lust for vengeance is probably the only thing that brings color to his bitter life. "You owe me." The man's voice piercing my thoughts, reminding me of my own hunger, the mistakes of my past. I'll never know this man."What?" I say as the man strode towards me with confidence, and for the dozenth time I try to memorize the features of his face but it twists with each step. And he hands me that bundle he's been holding. The man is gone almost instantly--. Oonly promising that he will come to take this thing back once he gets out. It doesn't really matter why the man's going to jail as I know he's committed a myriad of crimes from counterfeit to murder. Light pooled into my dirty living room from the hallway. This is my punishment.
--
The baby's skin is like porcelain and colored like creme. It's face round, small and chubby resembling a donut. Eyes as dark as chocolate. It was looking at me with eyes full of innocence. I felt my face scrunching up into a sneer. How wrong it is for me to care for it, to protect it. I have no choice in the matter as both the man and I well know, I understand this is him punishing me. Of course, the thought of abandoning it on the streets or giving it to an orphanage does not fail to grace my mind. I would much rather just kill the thing myself thaen care for it. The man found my weakness. I held the bundle close and closed my eyes, immersing myself in temporary darkness.
--
"So what are you going to do?" Dante asked, holding the baby up to his face to inspect, all the while the baby spouted its nonsense.
"I mean, not to be rude, but you can't raise a little baby. You're unprepared, inexperienced, and you don't have the time. We gotta be out every night or we'll lose our turf."
"I know"
"So what? Do we kill it? Sell it?"
I surged upward to snatch the baby from his hands and bringing him close to myself. Dante gave me a bewildered look in response. "I've already thought of that but I have no choice but to take care of it and you are going to help me." Dante knowing his place took on a compliant expression. "Come on then, let's go get a crib and show the little one off to the boys." said Dante reminding me of my unpreparedness and inexperience. This baby will be nothing but a burden, a shackle, a ball, and chain, keeping me from where I need to be.
--
Night fell and the baby will not rest. I picked up, for what must be the dozenth time, out of its shiny new crib that I have placed in my room. It's been crying nonstop for hours. The clock read 4:48 am. "What is it you want?" I asked sternly, my bones are heavy. "You don't have anything to cry about. I've clothed you, cleaned you; you have a place to rest."
The little creature must have sensed my inadequacy and is calling for its real mother. I sat on my bed and held it close to my face trying to will it to stop crying. My stomach growled, reminding me I still have hardly eaten all day due to this predicament distracting me. I also realized the poor baby hasn't either. This newfound exhaustion and stress on top of my previously taxing life as a gang leader must be impairing my judgment. I quickly lost my appetite as my stomach turned into a knot as the guilt consumed me. I carried the baby in my arms to the fridge, as I opened the door light washed over our faces. I took out a bottle and the formula all the while tears and screams came out of the babies face. "Hush," I said as I gently place the bottle in the baby's mouth which quieted it immediately, "I'm sorry." I squeeze one of his hands and put him back to bed. He slept soundly this time.
--
My baby brother has grown up so much since then. He's nearly sixteen and he's due back from school any minute. He walks home most days because his high school is only 3 blocks away. The television is on in the living room, blaring news of the violence that riddles these streets. Then the worst thing I could've seen flashes onto the screen. The anchor lady with fake yellow hair details a list of recently escaped prisoners. The man's face is always different and always changes but his eyes never do, they look like mine, the only give away to his identity. There is a pounding at the door. My brother has a key. I find my gun on the coffee table and aim at the door. He's come to finish the job. I kicked the door open with one swift motion and the hinges break. My gun is pointed at the man's empty chest, I glance around the hallway and two tall men, built like rhinos, are gripping my brother's arms, holding him in place. His face is pale with fear and it makes my stomach drop when he shoots me with a look that can only be interpreted as "help". My heart is pounding as adrenaline rushes through my veins, I turn to spit in the man's face
"If you so much as-"
"You haven't been taking very good care of my son here have you?"
The man interrupts. I respond "He's not your son, he's mine and you have no business here. Let him go and leave." I demand while taking aim at his twisting face. My father responds by taking a gold plated pistol out of his pocket which I quickly knock out of his hands and it slides across the floor behind the two men restraining my brother. I kick in his kneecap and he falls to the floor with a grunt. The two men push my brother to the floor and begin to come after me, I sucker punch one in the nose but the other managed to kick me into the hallway wall. Knocking the wind out of me which stuns me long enough for them to pin my arms to my back as I drop my gun. The man with the now broken nose decides it's time for payback. He slams my face into the wall until my nose starts to bleed. Pain floods my senses every time I try to think of a way to get to my brother who seems to be frozen on the floor. My father slowly rises to his feet with the help of the other man ignoring my paralyzed brother. Then my father stumbles over again as a loud bang thunders through the air, except he didn't stumble. My father fell to the ground instantly, both meatheads stared at their master's fallen body not believing their eyes. I slipped out the guys grip, grabbed my gun and hit their heads with the butt of my gun with all the force I could muster resulting which sounded with a crack, s. Successfully knocking them out cold. I faced my brother who was posed with a gold plated pistol, aimed at where our father's head was moments before. His face shares the shocked expression the rhinos had. I quickly bridge the space between us and gently grip his still raised arm lowering it to his side. My arms wrap around his back and I hold the back of his head in my hand. My brother sobs into my shoulder and desperately grips the back of my stained shirt. He leans into me and his legs give out, forcing me to hold onto him tightly to prevent him from falling. Red and blue lights dance their way through the complex windows lighting up the dimly lit hallway. Sirens blare and the baby cries.