The Streets Of Chicago

Part One of One

On The Streets of Chicago:

A remix of "Bloody Jack" and "The Departed."

Those bastards had gotten him from the back. It was evident from the way his pale white face crumpled against the gravel of the earth. He never even saw them coming. His eyes were still open, the green of his iris contradicting against the black stone that was mashed against his cheeks from when he fell. All I could think was that he looked like christmas. The green of those beautiful eyes with the red of the blood dripping from his open wound, it reminded me of Christmas. Rooster Charlie was dead and in domino effect, I would be too, soon.

I should be running, I should be thinking of my own survival, I should be doing anything else other than sitting on the middle of the Chicago streets in which I called home, wiping the away the blood from my gang leaders deadly gash. It's been years since I had no one. The first time being when I was five and my mum, pa and little sis all died from the disease. I'm not really sure why I never got sick. Must be some sorta twisted good luck. At that moment in my life no one stepped forward to claim me and I was thrown into some ridiculous foster care home. I was only there for about a week or so, I left as soon as I met Charlie Brewster. Alongside that charming last name, he wore bright red hair that flopped to one side in the wind, so earned the name Rooster. He was an orphan too, as were the other members of our gang. We took each other in and called one another family. Sure, we had our occasional fit with the other gangs of the city, as well as the law enforcement, but at the end of the day, snuggled into fort inside the old paper mill, it was home.

A loud explosion ripped off. It wasn't close enough to push me forward, but it had a terrible enough sound to key off the long overdue adrenaline in my body. My arms went stiff and a sense of cold washed over me: I had to get out of here.

War has broken out. Sure the streets have always been bad. I live in the murder capital of the world. No surprises there. Though the past couple of years, things have become really bad. Ego's have grown and those who need to be on top have killed to be there. Now was a critical moment. Charlie has been died for maybe a couple hours, god knows how many people have seen his fallen self, texted it to another and so on. As far as I'm concerned, everyone knows that the members of our gang are without a leader. That means hunting season for those with a beef against any one of us. I may be a lady, but I have done some extremely unladylike things in the past seven years. Everyone would be after me. If Rooster Charlie is not around to protect me, or any member of the Albany Orchestra for that matter, I need to find someone else to do that. There are many gangs in the city. I know that. But, body count is high. I pick the wrong one, I end up as pretty as Charlie looks right now. I may not want it, but I need to be with the top dogs now. This isn't a time to pick friends, but protection. I needed to go straight to the source of it all. We had bad blood, it wasn't personal, they probably don't even know who I am, but our gangs have a deep hatred for one another, but they are the toughest. I'm gonna be one of them. One of the Imperial Gangsters.

I turned over Charlie's body. There was nothing there left of him. His mouth which once was always turned sideways in a cocky know it all manner, now was turned down unmoving. I peered deep into his eyes which have since glazed over and gracefully combed over his hair. "I'm so sorry Charlie." I continued to whisper sweet apologizes into his departed ear, my voice choked back a few times as the realization of what I was doing stabbed my heart, but my fingers kept moving. I undid the first couple buttons with a solemn mobility, but as the gunshots continued to go off, I wept harder while my fingers moved faster and sloppier. The tears pooled down to the side of his face, making mud with the blood that had dried along his brow.

"Charlie. They don't accept no girls." I yanked off his black converse, left then right. "You know this is MY best shot. Oh, Charlie...I gotta."

I left him naked. I had betrayed his corpse. Yet, as climbed into his white button up, pulled his grey hoodie over my body, while swapping over my black skirt for his baggy jeans, I was able to smell his strong minty scent and I couldn't help but smile. He was always chewing on wintergreen gum. My fingers itched themselves around the edge of the hood and I dragged it over my long blond hair in a single swift movement. The issue hit me instantly. Bending over the destruction that was arranged around us, I found a sharp shard of glass from the nearby broken window. Uncaring of the possibility of cutting my palm, I snatched it with one hand and with the other I held my hair tightly. Movies portray this moment to be quick and elegant, but in reality, it took dedication to the change, as it took me several minutes to slice through my locks. In the end, I stood up abruptly, turned on my heels and made my way to the door. On the verge of not turning around to see his stark bare body shamefully laying across the broken rubble, I continued on with a high head. Forcefully shoving my hands into my pockets they hit a hard object. I traced my fingers delicately over it. His gun.