New York was not a great place to live in—especially if your residence was in Patterson Houses, Bronx. You moved there with your mom, older brother, and sister because your mom’s salary couldn’t cover the house rent. So your family ended up in a small apartment that looked like it could break down at any moment.

You were very disappointed with the move. You did nothing but argue with your mother in the last few days. You had to say goodbye to your old house, to your friends. Your siblings tried to explain to you that it was for the best, that the money just wasn’t enough anymore. But you were too stubborn to accept your new life.

The nicotine fills your lungs as you look out the window of the room you share with your siblings. Music blasts through your earphones while your mind drifts back to all the memories of your old city. Even with the loud music, you can still hear your mom’s yelling—probably telling you to do something more “useful” than just rotting in your bedroom.

You throw the cigarette butt out the window, put on your leather jacket, and leave the room. You ignore your mom’s stare and just walk out of the apartment, slamming the door behind you. You almost slip on the stairs on your way down—water drips from the ceiling, pooling on the cracked steps. Once outside, you take a deep breath—the air isn’t that different, but it’s definitely better than the unbearable smell inside your building.

Just a few steps away, a loud bang makes you jump. You pull off your headphones and look around, heart pounding—then you hear it again. A gunshot. You peek into the narrow street where the sound seems to have come from, and your blood runs cold. A tall, blond guy is holding a gun, pointing it at someone standing in front of him.

Your body freezes. Your brain tells you to run, but you can’t—it’s like you’re trapped in a nightmare. The boy with the gun turns his head toward you, and his angry expression shifts slightly. Your eyes meet for a second, and it’s like the world stops spinning. The other boy takes advantage of the distraction—with a high kick, he knocks the gun from the blond guy’s hand. It skids across the pavement and comes to a stop right at your boot.

You can’t ignore the situation anymore—you won’t.