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BackWalk out of my front door with me. Do you smell the morning breeze? The dew that fell last night when I battled my past through a dream? My mind stays focused on the mission that's at hand. Looking at every house, each has its own story to tell. For example, look across the street at that off brown one. They still have the same 10-year-old Christmas lights up, and it is February! I understand; do you understand? Inside those walls lives a single mother of five, but now four. The oldest son fertilized the streets of yesterday with his blood. The oldest's name was Marcus. He was 17 and sports were his life and dream. He knew this was his family's way out of poverty. Deep in his mother's heart, she only wanted what was best for her family. Mrs. Hill worked two jobs, and she ironed clothes on the weekend as a third income. She broke her back feeding and clothing her family, three girls and two boys. She was steadfast in the word of the Lord and she knew how merciful He was. Even when times were rough, she never complained. She knew that God would provide for her.
Wishing upon a star, her oldest son was blessed with the gift of great athletic ability. His body grew with the strength of a lion. His speed was as swift as a cheetah. His heart was humble and genuine. In his mother's eyes, he was God's child, and she knew the door would be open as long as he continued following God. Even though he was blessed, his mother never allowed him to take credit for what God gave him. Her favorite words were, "Son, give all praise to the Lord. He is the One that created you. All things in Him are good." Marcus had a humble heart to the word of God.
"Pass me the JOINT!" Taking a big swallow of the weed he passed it with a light cough, letting his homie know that it was good weed. Inhaling the smoke, Locomotive looked to the ceiling. "Man, let's go smoke a no good mother-fucker!" Before locomotive could move, his mind fled back to the past.
At the age of 8, his father was killed behind an argument about a fifth of gin. They say he tried to break up the fight, but did not see it coming. One of the men fighting pulled out a box cutter, and before the father knew it, his stomach was falling to the floor. He died on the way to the hospital.
To even step harder, his mother held on to what she could, but pressure broke the mold. She died of an overdose of battery acid. It so happened that it was given to her from her brother. Like any other kid, Locomotive was given a fair shot at life. His mind wasn't able to spread evenly. From the early life trauma, his mind closed many doors, locking all thoughts of knowledge from knowing. It doesn't make a difference what was said, but how and when it was said. It's not all just for people that are in poverty situations. All kinds of all ages, all colors, all levels of social rank. Either girl or boy, they all still may suffer from solitude while growing up. Something as simple as a touch therapy could change a child's attitude. If you continue to beat a child, separation and solitude breed violence! Not knowing how to care for others, or to care for themselves, where does lost care drift to? A gentle hug may prevent a strangulation! Think about it. Just take time now and think about it. Please!!!!!
After leaving the house, Locomotive and crew rode around for 30 minutes. Neither knew what he wanted, but there was something or someone in mind to relieve pressure and anger. Locomotive doesn't understand that it's not the world, but him. He was his own problem. He felt the world owed him something. Even if it was a ticket to hell or a date with faith. All he wanted was something to call his own. He wasn't going to let anything stop him from finding what was at the end of the barrel. Close one eye and look in. Do you see the firing pin? Can you smell the gun powder?
"Say Mike, make a u-turn. I see someone walking up the street!" Turning around, Locomotive saw his victim. Marcus had just left football practice, and he was in a rush to get home and babysit so his mother could go to work. Only 8 houses away from his home, and he sees the black bronco turn around. He just knows it is trouble ahead, but he asks God for protection, and he continues to walk towards his house. Not running, he increases his speed. Looking at his front door, he is almost home. He knows refuge is behind those 4 walls. He looks for safety but there is nothing to protect him.
"Roll slow, I got him in my sight," Locomotive said as he pulled the black rag over his face. Rolling at a snail's pace, Locomotive cocked the sawed off. Seeing the white of Marcus' eyes, time stopped and no movement was seen. Marcus tried to speed up even faster. Locomotive stopped Marcus at the beginning of the fence that outlined his front yard. Seeing the gun being raised, Marcus tried to turn and run. There was no place to run, no help. Death for no reason! Locomotive released 3 blasts that spit fire from the barrel. Covering Marcus' chest and stomach, the impact forced Marcus to surrender. The boy fell. "Hit it, hit it, I got that son-of-a-bitch!" And they sped off. Marcus died instantly.
1. Why did Marcus have to die?
2. What can we do to change the direction
of this young American?
******* Find a person and be a friend
*******
****** Find a kid and be an inspiration ******
***** Find yourself and love yourself *********
