It was in the 1930’s Chicago, when the gangs and gangsters prowled around out on the streets, lurking and looking for their enemies with pistols and machine guns. Those were the days when the “Chicago Typewriter” wrote its bloody headlines all across town. It looked like it was going to rain all week, but not today. I was walking down the street along with many other people and it was a pleasant quiet day so far- then suddenly gun shots broke the silence, just down Oliver Road. Heads turned in fear, scared eyes searching for their husbands, wives and children. People started running, trying, hoping to get out of the way quickly enough before getting hurt. I looked around and realized that I was one of only a few still left on the side walk along the old strip mall. With squeaking tires a black Ford came shooting around the corner, approaching rather quickly. “Run!” I heard people shout and scream. ”In here, come, hurry!” I felt terrified and began to panic. In the almost three years that I had lived in this city, I encountered several similar situations, but today I was closer than ever before to bullets flying.
Then, there in the middle of the side walk, stood a little girl, lost and scared to death, searching and crying out:”Momma, momma!” But there was no woman in sight anywhere. There was only me, 17 years old and insecure, almost still a child myself. Teas ran down her face, she was only about 3 years old, pig tails holding her brunette curly hair together, a doll in her hand. There was no time to think, quickly I picked her up with my skinny arms and ran towards the open door of a book store just a couple of steps down from me. I was almost inside, when the gun fire started again and I felt that I got hit in my right shoulder. Pushing the little girl into safety I fell and hit the floor hard, crawled with all my strength across the doorstep and hid behind the counter. The store clerk leaned down toward me and grabbed the now screaming little girl out of my weakening hands. I was bleeding badly and began to feel the pain. Desperately I tore a piece of cloth off my jacket and tied it around my shoulder to stop the bleeding. But my hands quickly lost their grip and I felt myself fading fast. There I laid on the cold floor with my eyes closed, surrounded by the sounds of the little girl crying, ambulances and police sirens approaching and my own last breaths, gasping for air, letting go of life. I was dying with strangers all around me, only with the comfort of having saved another innocent life out on the streets of Chicago.