#gang violence

[alwaysbewoke]

[truth4ourfreedom]

CO. POLICE DEPT. ORDERS LOCK DOWN DUE TO ARMED GANG VIOLENCE!

Mike Davis.. never one to mince words… this is a strong warning of what we may see in the weeks and months ahead. Be prepared.

----------------------------------------

This is not the America we grew up with. This is America turning into a 3rd World country. And it is a sad day when we cannot depend on our law enforcement brethren to protect us due to defunding, manpower shortages, and good for nothing prosecutors and DAs who let violent offenders go free quickly. I am considering buying my first firearm because living in CA, it's just a matter of time before all hell breaks loose.......

[reality-detective]

A dangerous Venezuelan gang known as the "Tren De Aragua" has infiltrated the US that you probably know nothing about but definitely should know 🤔

- Please share this 👆

Source: 👇

[uglygirlpretendingtobepretty]

Or maybe he could ruin me

[incohearent]

Unfriendly reminder that if you supported the failed assassination attempts against Trump that means you support innocent bystanders being shot  💗 you support families being torn apart by gangsters and children made orphans and shot "accidentally" in revenge killings, the business that thrusts the poor and needy into the sort of grief that they have to row against regardless of systematic regulation  💗 because you, like any criminal, are a terrible person

[defire]

Ghost of Seattle Chapter 43

Previous

Content: beating, whumpee turned whumper, (bad) caretaker turned whumpee, revenge

"I feel like I must be a sadist sometimes."

"You just spend a lot of time kicking people, Timothy. It's different."

Ghost followed Timothy and Grad along with some other low-ranking sentries. Their job was basically to back up whatever action was taking place. Ghost left Amherst's rifle with him, just as he came back from his break. 

This building's holding area was just a stairwell going down to a flooded level. They had blocked it off with rubble. The defensive structure here was a parking garage on the corner of Shiver's territory. It was an outpost with 3 levels, but the top had been blown off by a bomb that had ignited before it hit the street.

That created a firing zone for the main compound, to fire on approaching enemies, and difficult terrain.

The Shivers took Ron down the stairs and took positions around him. A kid had already gone running to get Oldman. Oldman would decide whether to kill or induct Ron. They certainly wouldn't send him back. Merc was threatening them, not treating. They would let him think Ron was dead.

"What's your name." Timothy said to Ron.

"Spade." Ron said.

"His name's Ron." Ghost interrupted, walking closer with folded arms. He caught Ron's scared eyes. 

"Ch-Chase?" Ron's jaw dropped. "It's you!"

He moved to reach out for Ghost. Ghost pushed him back, looking Ron in the eyes.

"Ghost doesn't belong to you anymore." Timothy sneered, punching Ghost in the left shoulder in a friendly way. Ghost caught his balance with a small shuffle, but didn't react otherwise, still staring at Ron.

"No he's not." Ron said, glancing around nervously. "We have him by blood. He's not loyal to you."

Ghost clenched his teeth in rage at the words.

Timothy slapped Ron hard in the face. 

Ron cringed and backed up. Ghost watched.

"Chase would never abandon us." Ron repeated. "Tell them, Chase."

Ghost clenched his fists. Timothy moved, to allow Ghost to step down 2 stairs. He faced Ron and punched the Guard in the stomach. Ron gasped and doubled over.

"But," Ron wheezed, starting to stand up.

Ghost punched him again.

Ron nearly crumbled to his knees. Ghost grabbed him by the front of his coat, pulling down his own muffler at the same time with his right hand.

"My name is Ghost, bitch." He said.

Ron was still taller than Ghost, but the younger boy had grown, and was standing on the stair above Ron, looking down on him with cold eyes.

"Stand up." Ghost said. "You wanna live?"

"Rgh..." Ron groaned. 

"Ron!" Ghost said. "If you wanna live, you show Shiver what you're made of."

Ron looked up at Ghost, obviously nauseated.

"Are you... protecting me?" He asked thinly.

"No." Ghost said, thrusting him back against the pile of rubble. Ron caught himself before falling. "And I never should've had to."

Ghost stepped back and watched the ensuing fight with Timothy and the others, until Oldman came.

Ron held up well, but his offense sucked ass. Oldman decided that Ron could stay alive if he proved himself. When Ron asked how he could do that, Oldman said,

"You'll find out."

Tag list: @joyjoygorl @cepheusgalaxy @little-rat-dragon

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Kindle book: Masterpost: Next:

[weemietime]

I just recently had cause to check my old Quora account (feel free to add me anyone, it's the source link) and I would like to put this on my blog as well because it is an important piece of information.

We all remember the memed out "stop Kony" shit, well I never stopped stopping Kony. I've been blasting this motherfucker for a decade. The question was asked:

Have child soldiers been condemned for war crimes?

The only person who has ever been convicted of war crimes that were committed while they were still a child, is Dominic Ongwen, formerly of the LRA. His verdict was returned in February 2021.

Ongwen’s case was particular - records indicate he was abducted between 9–14 years of age (his report differs from the reports of others, a common issue when dealing with early formative trauma) - but he eventually became a trusted, high-ranking member of the LRA and indeed participated in capturing children and perpetrating the same violence onto them as was done to him. He continued this for many years.

Ultimately the courts demonstrated with sufficient evidence that he acted of his own volition (as much volition as he was capable of having) as an adult. While he undoubtedly experienced fear and suffering in childhood, he was successfully indoctrinated and carried out many acts of abuse on his own, without the threat of duress, and was even known to refuse to obey orders he did not agree with.

It is an unfortunate case, regardless of one’s opinion on his character. Everyone involved in the trial acted with utmost respect and dignity. Everyone did everything they were supposed to do, and yet still did not find the correct answer. There can be no correct answer. No real accounting for justice, for every single person impacted by Joseph Kony - including Ongwen.

During the Charles Taylor trials, the Prosecutor David Crane opened the floor for any child over the age of 15 who had committed voluntary acts within an armed group. So, the 'cut-off' for what constitutes the capacity to reason as an adult was put at around 15. Crucially, however, no child was actually brought up on these charges.

Personally, I believe in prison abolition, and I believe that rehabilitation would be more effective for these children (of course, some of them will be too dangerous to reintegrate, but this is a case-by-case issue). If I had not gotten treatment at Romeo Dallaire, I would have been imprisoned and exposed to institutional violence. This would have made me more violent, and I would have exited the prison system and went on to perpetuate even more violence. Because I got therapy and community healing, because I was able to hang on to my relationship with my mom, and I suppose because of my intellect and schizoid, I wound up flipping the switch in my brain from unmitigated antisocial disaster to a prosocial human being. What flipped that switch in me was being given responsibility to facilitate a group of younger children. The adults around me realized that I would thrive if put in a leadership role, and I was able to see myself helping people. I realized that there are other ways to engage with the world than base violence. The real splinter that occurred, that allowed me to break through the brainwashing, was during a shoot-out that I was involved in shortly after my treatment ended (so it was not some magical happy ending, I did have re-occurring issues afterward). But during that event, I realized in that moment that what we were doing was wrong. I am just very, very fortunate that no one lost their life and no one was injured on that day.

If we are referring to condemnation in the broader, non-legal sense - the answer is yes. Many former child soldiers are rejected by their communities when the fighting stops.

The adults in these communities were often more afraid of the child soldiers than the adult soldiers - you could reason with an adult soldier, but children do not fully understand the value of life, and are undergoing an extreme and radical shift in their identities and worldviews while accompanied by radical violence and forced substance abuse. The reality is that during the fighting, the children were more brutal than the adults.

When disarmament, demobilization and reintegration processes occur, the long and arduous task of healing from the atrocities of communal violence must begin. 20 years ago, after the Liberian civil war, a group of children were followed by clinicians interested in evaluating the long-term psychosocial outcomes of child soldiering. For these children this was regrettably universally poor.

Many were homeless, uneducated, and addicted to drugs. Now, looking at those same children, the reports from 2022 are much different as our understanding of the law and trauma deepens and grows as a species. Many of these same children have some form of education, an occupation, housing, and are politically active in their communities.

Reintegration is a personal process. Often actions were taken that resulted in loss of life, permanent maiming/disability, witnessing cruelty, rapes, hacking off limbs, burning people alive - it does not matter if it’s a child or an adult subjecting you to this, it has a profound impact. But evidently the condemnation for their actions did not persist beyond the immediate aftermath.

These children were able to be brought back into the fold, and I think that is a beautiful thing.

[thechickwith-add]

Woooow Syrax , Vermithor and Silverwing at Dragstone waiting to jump Aemond on Vhagar. I had actual goosebumps I was actually screaming and jumping up in my seat!!! That's my Queen!!

[allthegeopolitics]

Mexican President Andrés Manuel López Obrador acknowledged Monday that authorities have had to set up camps for displaced people after some 4,200 residents fled a town in the southern state of Chiapas. Residents of the town of Tila fled over the weekend (Jun 8/9) after armed gangs shot up the town and burned many homes last week, state prosecutors said. It was probably the biggest mass displacement in Chiapas since 1997. Some residents recounted spending days trapped in their homes before army troops and state police showed up over the weekend to allow them to leave.

Continue Reading

[alwaysbewoke]

Why The US Won't Leave Haiti Alone

[jerrycummblr]

imagine spinning the block on the laufmaschine in 1817

[funbearer]

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Small boys play card games on a playground in Hell's Kitchen, where only a few hours earlier on August 30, 1959, two 16-year old boys were slain in a gang attack. The victims were sitting with three other boys, all of whom were wounded, and a girl, who was unharmed, when the gang struck shortly after midnight. One victim, Robert Young, reached his apartment on the second floor of the light apartment building in the background before he fell dead. The body of the other victim, Anthony Kerzensky, was found crumpled in a hallway of the apartment building at right.

Photo: John Lindsay for the AP

[vamphorica]

mattmello week vii: nothing bad ever happened au

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: M/M

Fandom: Death Note (Anime & Manga)

Relationship: Matt | Mail Jeevas/Mello | Mihael Keehl

Characters: Matt | Mail Jeevas, Mello | Mihael Keehl

Additional Tags: Happy Ending, Wammy's House (Death Note), Separations, Foster Care, Gang Violence, Crimes & Criminals, Growing Up, Reunions, Kissing, Not Canon Compliant

Word Count: 3,127

Series: Part 7 of MattMello Week 2024 | @mattmelloweek

Summary: After the closure of the infamous Wammy's House in 2003, Matt and Mello navigate a life without the pressure of successorship.

────────────────────────────

“Congratulations on making it onto the New York Times Bestseller list, Mihael! Selling fifty-thousand copies for a debut novel is practically unheard of, I guess you really must be a genius.”

Mihael was already regretting agreeing to this publicity event that his manager had arranged, a book signing that took place only a week after the debacle that was his launch party. From what he was told, everyone had loved it, but he had not signed up for these repetitive self congratulatory occasions which felt less like an excuse for him to talk about his book, and instead an opportunity for orbiters in the industry to get drunk and engage in underhanded remarks to one another. It was impressive how creative these people could be in turning a benign compliment into a boasting competition within a matter of a few words. If he was not subject to its influence, Mihael would be somewhat amused.

Now, sitting at a small table, a long queue stood before him with people holding hardback copies of his first novel to their chest in anticipation. He had written it under the letter M, but his publishers had managed to miss the memorandum that Mihael requested anonymity due to the nature of his identity, and it was excitedly disclosed that the new book taking the world by storm was written by none other than a former Wammy’s boy. It was too good of an opportunity to avoid capitalising on, and thus followed lengthy reviews in various broadsheets about how the narrative would have most certainly been informed by the trauma inflicted on a young Keehl. The reader can sense the lingering pain of the author’s tragedy through his protagonist, and it serves as a harrowing reminder of how we as a society must take responsibility for our gifted youths.

Wammy’s House closed down in 2003, after a lengthy legal battle between social services and Interpol over the actual necessity for an L successor, at risk of harming the wellbeing of the children who resided at the orphanage. After the courts ruled that the House’s practices were technically abusive, all fourteen boys and girls were quickly relocated into foster care homes across the country. It was believed at the time that many of these prodigies had been so isolated from one another within the House that there was no real concern in separating them from one another – for the most part, many were young enough to forget their aliases and grow up into well-adjusted members of society as anticipated, the pressure of successorship a burden they were no longer required to withstand.

Many, but certainly not all.

As one of the oldest, Mihael struggled to hear himself being referred to by his real name, spoken by strangers in suits who would smile widely and slowly explain to him that he would be placed in a home with many new friends waiting to meet him. Even at the time, he had little expectation that moving from one house full of orphans to another would provide any respite, other than the fact that he lost his sense of purpose almost immediately. His whole identity revolved around the need to fight for his position as L's successor, and at a time in which the detective had yet to choose between himself and Near, having his singular ambition torn away from him by people who simply didn’t understand the culture at the House broke him. He dropped out of the local state school at sixteen soon after completing his exams. Despite his results being ridiculously good, a promising future in academia often projected by his teachers, he had no interest in pursuing further education. What was the point? There was no goal anymore, his life’s purpose was completely unfulfilled.

It was only a matter of months before he had found himself caught up in gangs, selling drugs and adopting the habit of carrying a blade whenever he stalked the streets at night. During those years Mihael – or Mello, as chose to reclaim – took solace in the few quiet moments he was afforded to write in a scrappy notebook that he had managed to hold on to from Wammy’s. It was nothing special, a throwaway birthday present from a friend who he still thought about too often, but upon being caught by police for the fourth time, it was taken away from him. Without it, he had nothing left from that time in his life, and despite everything he had gone through as a child, such a thought that he could lose that part of himself sent him into a panic.

“Your writing is brilliant.” His court appointed lawyer had told him as he flicked through the pages in front of the eighteen year old, “You’re wasting yourself with all this shit, you know? Practically begging for Kira to catch up with you, is that really what you want?” He sighed, passing the notebook back to Mello who snatched it eagerly, “Listen. I’ll get you in touch with a friend I know on the condition that you stay out of trouble, got it? I know you’ve been through a fair amount of crap in your life, but it really isn't an excuse to have become involved with the people you consider acquaintances now.”

Apprehensive at first, Mello did not understand what motivation someone might have to offer such an incentive. Perhaps the publicity surrounding the Wammy’s House scandal had given those in positions of authority an unfounded obligation of charitability to extend towards these traumatised orphans. Mello was smart enough to know he ought to take an opportunity when it presented itself, as undeserved as it might be.

Within a matter of a year, he had his work published to unprecedented success.

────────────────────────────

“Name?” Two hours had passed already and Mihael had given up with the facade of smiling at every person who emerged in front of him, ready to gush about his book, or ask questions that he had either answered several hundred times in interviews and panels. Sometimes, they were too invasive about his “terrible past”. Was he abused, beaten up, sexually assaulted? Did they torture children who failed exams? Did he meet L, and was he as evil as the tabloids made him out to be? His face ached as he scribbled ‘M’ over and over again, until the letter resembled little more to him than a wonky line of no distinct meaning or connection to himself. He kept his head lowered as another fresh copy of his book slid across the table towards him. He opened the front cover, and his pen hovered above the title page.

“Matt.”

No way. Matt was such a common name that when Mihael looked up, he expected a stranger to be staring back at him with a dopey smile and a remark about how the book really affected him. Instead, a lanky red haired teenager wearing a replica of the striped shirt he was so fond of as a child grinned, a slight colour tinting his cheeks.

“Found you, Mello.”

“Fuck, Matt… Wait, give me a moment.” Mihael scrambled up from his chair, alerting his manager who quickly appeared by his side, “I need a break – ten minutes?”

“Mihael, you still have a couple of hundred people waiting.”

“I can see that, Andrew, I need ten minutes and I will be back, okay?” In another world, he would have enjoyed the ability to order people around in such a manner, but such opportunities were rare to him in this line of work. Regardless, Andrew sighed and began telling those who had congregated to please wait for author Mihael Keehl to take a quick break. Yes, he will be more than excited to continue signing books once he has returned which, as a reminder, must be purchased from the tills over there.

────────────────────────────

“You’re becoming quite the celebrity, aren’t you, Mihael?” Matt teased gently as he lit up a cigarette. They had managed to find a small space just behind the back of the bookstore, where Mihael silently inspected every slight change his childhood best friend had undergone in the past five years. He was taller, of course, and the manner in which he spoke was significantly more relaxed, deeper than it had been the last time they spoke. Yet he still retained the familiarity of a boy who Mihael still said a prayer for every once in a while. “I’m surprised. I expected that you would lay low. No judgement – the book is really good.”

“You read it?”

“Of course I did. I was going to buy it anyway because I wanted that fucking sexy author’s photo they published on the sleeve, but yeah, I actually read it as well. Was it inspired by the House then?”

Mihael folded his arms across his chest and averted his gaze towards his feet. There was something surreal about meeting Matt again like this. He was happy to see him, no question about it, but there was a weight in his chest he couldn’t quite shift. With Matt came memories unfolding and spilling out that he had subconsciously repressed, feelings of inadequacy and anxiety, but so too surfaced the reminders of comfort that Matt had provided in those moments.

“I suppose so.”

A silence descended between the two as Matt took a long drag, smoke unfurling from between his lips. Was this a new habit of his, or had he picked it up soon after the two were separated? Mihael had experimented with all sorts of things to try and block the feeling of perpetual emptiness in those first few months after the move, only progressing onto the harder stuff as he grew older, more weary of the world around him. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Matt developing the same bad habits. Mihael looked up.

“What do you do now, anyway?”

“Nothing exciting – IT consultancy. A few big companies like the idea of having a Wammy’s kid on their rota, but none of it is exactly complex stuff. I get my kicks from doing other shit.” Mihael was not about to interrogate Matt about what he meant by that, but he could imagine the redhead getting bored easily with something so goddamn corporate. It felt like it went against everything the two had grown up anticipating for themselves.

As if reading his mind, Matt continued, “I miss the House, in a weird way. I think while I was reading your book, I realised that, as fucked up as it was, there was a structure to it, you know? We were there for a reason.”

Mihael nodded, “Yeah, we were.”

“I missed you.”

“Same, Matt.”

It felt so natural to be back in one another’s arms again, clinging on as the world compressed to nothing but the heat and smell of each other. Mihael wanted nothing more than to stay like this forever, to make up for the lost years by exploring Matt, examining the man he had developed into so that he could adapt himself to his body once again. He kissed Matt’s neck and felt his hand rub his back in response. I’m here now.

“Mihael! We need you back now!”

“I’ll see you later, Mello, okay?” Matt gently eased himself out of the other’s grip, smiling at him, “You still need to sign my book after all. I paid a good fifteen quid for the hardback copy.”

Mihael smiled – hearing himself being called Mello felt right, even if he could never truly go back to being that boy again. He brushed his fingers through Matt’s hair, away from his goggles, and slipped through the side door back into the bookstore. He could manage a few more hours of this, he told himself.

────────────────────────────

Matt had been moved to a small foster home in Northern Ireland, and had only settled down in London within the past year. His flat was rather large, to Mihael’s surprise, but when Matt disclosed how much money he earned from his legitimate endeavours alone, Mihael understood how he could afford living somewhere a little more spacious. It was probably just as well given how much shit he had managed to hoard.

“Make yourself at home.” Matt began busying himself with cleaning away loose wires and crisp packets hurriedly, taking Mihael back in time to their shared room at the House. He was not overly tidy himself, but kept his possessions relatively organised compared to Matt, whose clothes and consoles always had a habit of encroaching on his space anyway. At the time, he would moan about it, tossing Matt’s striped shirts back at him when he would stroll into the room. Now he was in the midst of the mess once again, Mihael suddenly did feel at home in a sense that he had not experienced for quite some time. He threw himself down on the sofa, a loud crinkling sound alerting him that the space was already occupied.

“Since when do you read newspapers?” He asked jokingly, pulling the page from beneath him. He glanced over it, and smiled, “Don’t tell me you’re fucking clipping my reviews, idiot.”

“Give me that.” Matt seized it away from him, “Well I have to frame it now that it's got Keehl’s arseprint on it, don’t I? How much would that go for on eBay?”

Mihael laughed and Matt sat down beside him, his hand tentatively resting on the other’s thigh. A small intimacy Mihael leant into. He had developed a strong disdain towards people touching him, tensing up as prospective foster parents would try to embrace him, knowing he would only be rejected yet again, or forcing himself to shake hands with men in suits who saw his writing as nothing more than a nice bonus to their massive bank balances. It was the punches, the slaps, that were Mihael’s only real opportunity to be touched in a manner he considered more genuine, from those who threatened him over drug deals and gang loyalty. Matt reminded him that people could want to place their hands on him gently, to make him feel good.

“I knew I’d find you again, eventually,” Matt said, “I was worried you wouldn't want anything to do with me, I don’t know. You were always destined for some kind of greatness, and I admired that about you.”

Mihael shook his head, “Don’t be ridiculous, Matt. You were on my mind every day, I wouldn’t have got to where I am now without you.” He tilted his face, angled just shy of Matt’s lips, “You have always been home to me.”

They kissed with the softness that lovesick teenagers engage in with one another for the first time. Mihael gently pushed Matt back sprawled atop of him while their hands ran across each other’s chests. As if there was still an inherent fear that they would be torn apart again, they traced each other to commit their features to memory. In another life, maybe their anxieties of separation would be valid, the early deaths of Wammy’s boys forever a haunting persistence in the back of their minds. Now, however, there was an experimental promise of stability. A life together that could be pursued. Whatever the headlines had made them out to be, abused prodigies whose collective trauma of their childhood would define them, they had the chance to defy it. They were a testament to their own survival.

“Call me Mello, again.”

“Mello?”

“Yeah.”

Matt hummed behind a wide smile. He cupped the blonde’s face between his hands, admiring those gorgeous blue eyes that now appeared alight with genuine promise of something better. A life worth living. They owed it to themselves to make the most of the future that presented itself to them, trusting in their ability to navigate it together. They had managed to get this far already.

“You are safe with me now, Mello.”

[defire]

Ghost of Seattle Chapter 15

Content: gang violence, killing, begging and crying

Kiraba was technically a Yellowcap, but he considered himself a mercenary for his family's farm. He'd joined up and lied about his age to be near his brother. Kiraba wasn't really 17, and he'd started to regret lying about his age after that run-in with Merc of the Guards.

Kiraba and his brother, Grime, had been called to defend one of Yellowcap's farms. It was being raided. One farm closer, their own home would be attacked. 

As he followed his brother down the road with his empty AR-15 flapping at his back, he shuddered.

"Grime?" He said. 

"Huh." Grime said.

"You have ammo, right?"

"Course."

Kiraba felt his heart flop. He was pretty sure Grime was lying. 

The alarm came from a farm called Ortiz. It was almost dusk, and Kiraba's squad was walking fast with tired legs trying to get there. Their diesel had run out a couple miles away.

They crouched down just outside an old wheat field. They had to be careful what fields they harvested from, but Ortiz still did things the old way. Then Era gave them a signal and everyone ran toward the barn, where they could hear the shooting coming from.

"Just stay out of sight." Grime told Kiraba, so he hung far back. 

He had no ammo, so he couldn't do any good anyway. It was far enough that he was pretty sure no one could see him lurking in the grass around the fence post, but he could still see what was going on.

The force showing up with guns and shouts was enough to scare off the intruders, so the Yellowcap scouts followed them down with angry shouts, with Kiraba tailing them.

The Yellowcaps shot off a few rounds, but it was weird that they seemed to be sparing the raiders. Suddenly the raiders fanned out into two directions. They were too evenly divided and grouped. The Yellowcaps slowed, but the raiders closed in on the front of them and suddenly unloaded on them--not just with guns, but with knives too. They jumped in and knifed everybody. Kiraba ran closer, but realized there was nothing he could do. 

It occurred to him that that was exactly what the other scouts were thinking... ammunition was scarce. Maybe the raiders were on to them.

He crept up closer, watching with horror as the raiders knifed anyone that looked strong enough to get back up.

One of them crouched over Grime.

Kiraba jumped out of hiding, tearing up and waving his gun at them.

"Get away! Get away! Please stop. We won't follow you." He cried.

He looked at the woman's face. She held a knife above Grime, about to stab downward into his neck, while he grimaced, waiting to be killed.

She was just doing what she was supposed to do. Eliminating a future problem. He could see the concern written on her face.

"Just him." Kiraba said, crying. He let her see his distress. "Please. He's my brother."

She stood up, tapping one of her companions on the shoulder.

"It's enough, right? Can we go get the harvest?"

"We won't bother you." Kiraba repeated. "Please."

He knelt down and crawled closer to his brother. 

The raiders stepped back over the bodies, looking at each other with small nods. Deciding that they were pretty merciful people. Kiraba would let them think that.

He looked around at the stuff they had on them, for something he could use to bandage Grime. There were bandages in his pack. Kiraba sobbed with relief. Grime had been cut on the inside of the arm.

It was shocking sometimes, how these raiders seemed to know just where to hit to make their attacks more lethal.

He wrapped it quickly, begging his brother to stay still until he could bring back help.

As he stood up, panting, he saw the other wounded lying all over the dirt road. Distressed at the choice he had to make, he wrung his hands. Leave them and bring back help, or try to save them himself?

He looked across the field. Raiders were already half-done emptying the silos. This whole little battle had been a distraction. They were so ruthlessly efficient, that it seemed like it would be impossible to actually curb their greed.

And those silos were already full of most of Ortiz's crop that year.

Kiraba rushed off, letting the wind dry the tears off his face. He had to get help.

As the town doctor ran up with some other adults, Kiraba lagged behind, exhausted from the run.

"He'll be alright." The doctor was calling back to him.

Kiraba knelt by his brother. Thank God he'd made the right decision.

"It doesn't hurt." Grime grunted, rubbing Kiraba's tears off with a handful of Kiraba's sweater. "Stop crying."

Kiraba smiled a little. This meant his brother was too injured to serve. Now Kiraba could tell the Yellowcaps the truth--he was only 12. And the 2 of them could be safe at home with their family for a while. This was going to be a good winter.

Tag list: @joyjoygorl @cepheusgalaxy

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Kindle book: Masterpost: Next:

[iammontewhite]

The Rise of Chicago Drill: Rap's Deadliest War

Dive into the gritty world of Chicago drill rap in our latest explainer video, "The Rise and Fall of Chicago Drill: Rap's Deadliest War." Discover how Chief Keef’s rise from the streets sparked a cultural phenomenon, only to be overshadowed by gang violence and bitter rivalries. We'll dissect the dramatic events leading to the deadliest conflict in rap history, exploring the lives and legacies of influential artists like King Von and Lil Durk. Join us as we unravel the complex narrative of a genre that both reflected and exacerbated the harsh realities of life in Chicago. If you enjoy our content, please like and share this video! #ChicagoDrill #ChiefKeef #RapHistory #GangViolence #HipHopCulture #MusicDocumentary