Rating: R (For Strong Language)

Genre: Drama

Overview: When an innocent walk to the laundromat turns deadly, a mother risks her life to save her son. Meanwhile, when an illegal deal goes wrong, two brothers find themselves outnumbered in the middle of a firefight. When the two worlds collide, a martyr is born.

***

"Come on Luke it's time to get these clothes back home."

Luke paused his portable game and tucked it away. He ran towards his mother, "Coming mommy."

Luke's mother pushed a cart full of clean clothing out of the 24-hour laundromat on a Thursday afternoon. The laundromat was only a block away from their apartment building.

"Mommy, are we going to have cake for my birthday today?"

"Of course we are sweetie," his mom brushed his nappy hair. "Mommy is going to bake you a fresh cake once she puts away all the laundry. How's your birthday present so far?"

"It's so cool," he jumped around in circles. "I can play all my Mario games my friends gave me and it has a touch screen."

The child was holding a used original Nintendo D.S. The silver D.S. was faded and clung for dear life by a single hinge. It was missing a stylus and and its touch screen had multiple scratch marks on it. The D.S. was more than six years old.

"Sorry mommy couldn't get you anything else," she sighed.

Luke cut her depression off, "This is the best gift ever." He hugged his mother, "Thank-you Mommy. Wait till you see the present I have for you for Mother's Day."

His mother was genuinely excited, "You got me a present!" She smiled and hugged her son with her free hand as she continued to push the cart along the sidewalk.

"Of course I got you a present mommy. It's Mother's Day."

"I can't wait to see it."

"Plus with Daddy not around who else is suppose to give you presents?"

The depression averted early came back. The child's father left the family two years ago. He left no note, no message, and didn't even bother to say goodbye. One morning he never came back from work. Luke's mother knew he was alive-he had talked to one of his coworkers who mentioned something about him escaping this "shitty life."

Luke and his mother were left to fend for themselves. She works at the local grocery store bagging groceries for chump change. She makes barely enough to get by, and that's even with the small amount of welfare money she receives once a month.

She was 28 years old, but the stress of her daily routine made her look 40. She had deep purple shadows beneath her eyes, which made her constantly seem tired. Her face was scared with crows feet, and her hair was always unkempt. Yet she managed to put her boy through private school education, at the expensive of taking care of herself. She has been wearing the same clothing for seven years now. The last time she went shopping for herself was before Luke was born.

At her job she is given a lunch break, but she never has food to eat during her lunch break, nor the money to buy herself any. Any money she has, she saves for her child. She survives the day with a cup of coffee she makes every morning before walking Luke to school.

Of course she could avoid all of this by putting her child in a public school, but the public schools in New York City are horrible-especially in the poorer sections of the city. Children lose their innocence at Luke's age, and become bullies, victims of bullying, gang targets for recruitment, and in general grow no affection for learning. Teachers do not care for the students-as long as they get their paycheck; and even if they did care, a majority of the students make it too difficult for the teacher to teach, and the class is constantly in an uproar.

So that's why she sacrificed so much to put her child in a Catholic school, the most affordable private school in her part of the city. She wanted her child off the streets, and in the classroom. She was investing so much in her son. If she couldn't escape the poverty-maybe he can.

***

"Where's my money?" Christian asked.

"Bitch I ain't got your money," Pablo replied.

"What you mean you ain't got his money?" Jeremy threatened.

Pablo reminded them, "The deal was I got you the van full of supplies and you pay me the money."

"The van full of-nigga this van is fucked up. You banged this shit into a fucking wall or something. The 'supplies' are ruined. I want my money."

"I got you the supplies," Pablo noted. "You didn't say anything about it being in perfect condition."

Jeremy followed, backing up his brother, "My dude, we paid you 5 g's for this shit as a down payment. This ain't the shit we paid for, we want our money back."

Pablo laughed and pulled back his Cuban-style cream button down shirt revealing a holster, "Well you ain't getting your fucking money back."

Christian pulled up his hoodie revealing his piece, "You think you the only nigga that's packing fire?"

Jeremy followed, revealing his gun also, "Yeah boi, you better pay us back that cash money or you gonna get popped."

The two brothers heard a car door slam and two men came out from an old Toyota from both the driver's and passenger's front seats. They were dressed in a similar cream button down shirt like Pablo was, only they wore baseball caps.

The two men walked towards the three of them and Christian turned around with his hand at his holster, "Who the fuck are you?"

Pablo answered for them, "They're the people who are gonna make sure you give me my money-unless," he mocked, "you're 'gonna get popped.'"

Jeremy was fidgeting with his holster. His fingers tapped the gun's hilt like a tap dancer in his final number, "I ain't liking what I see here Chris."

Christian was a bit more foolish, "Well grow a pair 'cause I ain't leaving without my money."

Pablo cleared his throat, "Gentlemen let me make this clear, you either give me the money and nobody gets hurt, or you try something stupid and you both die. Now, my other half of the payment please."

"The deal's off," Christian noted and yanked his gun from his holster. He held the gun in a arching angle, almost sideways, and began firing at Pablo. The first shot missed him and struck the van. Both he and Jeremy skipped backwards towards cover and the other two men behind them pulled out their guns and started firing. Meanwhile, Pablo pulled out his handgun and took cover behind the white van. Christian was firing shots at him, missing each time. Jeremy was focusing his fire on the two men. He managed to strike one of them in the shoulder. The man was pushed back behind cover and his partner fired at Jeremy's position, grazing his ear.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

"Mommy what was that?" Luke asked.

She ignored the question and instinctually shielded her child behind her, "Get behind me."

They were a matter of feet from the doorsteps of their apartment building. She had no choice but to push her child into the corner between the rusty red stone steps and a brick wall. She then shielded her son with her body.

Luke was panicking, "Mommy I'm scared."

"Don't worry Luke, mommy will protect..."

She gasped and clutched her son's arm tightly.

"Mommy you're hurting me."

Her head bobbed forward.

"Mommy are you okay?"

The gunfire stopped. People were running away from the gunfire. Police sirens echoed in the background.

Christian dragged his brother away from the scene, "Fuck, the popo is coming, we gotta dip. Can you move?"

Jeremy couldn't stand on his right leg, "They fucking shot my leg."

Christian lifted him to his shoulder, "Then hop nigga, we gotta bounce."

The two wounded men got back into the Toyota and Pablo drove the car away, since he stood unscathed from the firefight.

When the gunmen left, all that was left was a white van with pounds of illegal drugs packed together like confetti sugar.

The silence was pierced by the constant cry of a small child, "Mommy!"

Luke sobbed holding his mother's dead body in his arms, "Mommy!"

The police was speeding down the block.

Luke sniffled and howled, "Mommy!"

Blood began dripping onto his jeans and his cry became much sharper. His pitch grew higher and more desperate, "Mommy!"

The police car shifted to a halt and two police officers exited the car with their hands on their holsters.

They heard the cry coming from a corner with a dead body slumping against the wall, "Mommy!"

One officer ran to the noise and lifted the mother's dead body off of the child. Luke's cries sped up and with each wail came a huff of air, "Mommy! Mommy!"

The officer glanced down at the body and then averted his eyes towards the side. He muttered into his radio, "We got a injured civilian. Bullet wound entry through the left side of her ribcage from behind the chest. Requesting paramedics ASAP."

A responder on the other end noted, "Copy, sending a unit to your position."

The officer turned his attention to Luke who was gripping at air. He wanted to grab his mother, yet she was out of reach. He was afraid to touch her while she was in the police officer's arms.

"What's your name kid?" the police officer asked.

Luke ignored the question, "Is Mommy okay?"

The police officer knew she was dead the minute he laid eyes on her. He only spoke euphemistically through the radio to not alarm the child.

But he couldn't lie to him either, "Your mother loved you very much." He can tell just by the way he found them. He knew she had gone down protecting her son. "Don't forget that."

A picture of this moment in time says it all: a cart full of clean clothing, an apartment project in the mist of poverty, a white van full of illegal drugs, police sirens circling the block, a dead woman lying on the ground, and a son whose cheeks was stained from the dried patches of tears that burned into his nerves. This is what mothers do. They protect us from scenes like this. If you find yourself lucky enough to not live in such a neighborhood, thank your parents. If you find yourself having escaped such a place, thank your teachers. If you find yourself still surviving in such a place, thank your mother; for a good mother loves her child and a great one is a child's guardian angel.

This has been dedicated to all the mothers out there (including my mom) who risk their lives everyday so that we may live ours.