Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Ghetto ❯ Ghetto ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing, it belongs to Bandai, Sotsu and associated parties. I don't own the rights to the song “In the Ghetto” either, it belongs to Elvis Presley and as such all rights remain his. I've just borrowed it for this fic. Written for pleasure not profit.

Pairings: None

Rating: R

Warnings: Song fic, violence, angst

Spoilers: Possibly for Duo's Episode Zero.

// Indicates Song Lyrics //

AN: Heard this song on the radio the other day and immediately thought of Duo's early years. I haven't heard this song in ages and it struck a chord with the muse and this is what came out. Hope you enjoy.

Summary: An early look at Duo's life.

Archive: www.gundam-wing-diaries.150m.com Anyone else please ask.

Betaed by Sakura *snugs*

"Ghetto"

February. 2010 ShenLong

The chestnut haired woman looked around warily, eyes scanning for any possible threat. Her stomach cramped again and she fought off the wave of nausea, bearing the pain and wrapping an arm around her swollen abdomen.

Once the pain eased, she took a few deep breaths and moved forward again. Somehow she managed to fight her way through the swirling snow and enter the abandoned building she'd called home for the past couple of months. Pausing, her ears listened intently for any indication she wasn't alone before moving deeper into the building.

The wind howled through the many cracks in the masonry and she wearily reached for the couple of newspapers she'd managed to drag out of a dumpster, crumpling the paper up and stuffing it into as many of the cracks and crevices she could find.

Another pain hit her and she doubled over, clutching desperately at her belly and clenching her teeth. This one lasted a little longer and she knew it was time. Shuffling over to the stained mattress shoved into a corner, she grabbed the pitiful supply of water and tattered blanket, settling herself on the mattress and preparing as best she could for what was to happen.

// As the snow flies
On a cold and gray Chicago mornin'
A poor little baby child is born
In the ghetto //

The tears rolled down her cheeks, soft cries fell from her mouth as she bore down. Gritting her teeth she pushed hard.

A lusty cry greeted her ears and carefully she pushed herself up to see her child.

Wrapping the infant up in an old shirt and laying him to one side, she cleaned herself up as best she could with the limited supplies she had, then settled down to explore the new bundle.

Tears continued to fall from her eyes as her fingers gently roamed the babe. From the top of his head to the tips of his toes he was perfect. Too perfect for what he'd been born into. A light dusting of chestnut graced his crown, ten little fingers and ten little toes.

Eyes opened as the infant whimpered and she noted he would most likely have her eye color too.

Whimpering a little louder, the babe began to make suckling noises and she cradled him close to her chest. He found what he sought and latched on, sucking for all he was worth and doing his best to disperse the empty feeling in his gut.

As the warm milk flowed through her breast, a cold feeling of despair flowed into her heart.

As he fed, his mother continued to cry.

// And his mama cries
'cause if there's one thing that she don't need
it's another hungry mouth to feed
In the ghetto //

**

She sat on the sidewalk, child in her arms, eyes begging the people walking past to help her. Pleading for a few credits to try and feed herself; feed her child.

A few took pity and passed over a credit or two, but they were rare. Her heart ached for the babe who was slowly but surely sucking the very life from her. Her weight had plummeted leaving her looking gaunt and old, a shadow of what she used to be.

// People, don't you understand
the child needs a helping hand
or he'll grow to be an angry young man some day //

With the babe to look after and feed she couldn't go out and steal food as she usually did, she would be too easily caught, and she couldn't leave him alone. Even scavenging in the dumpsters was becoming a trial.

A pair of shoes stopped in front of her and she raised her weary eyes to see a tall man.

“Kin yer spare a few creds fer a starvin' mama, sir?” she asked in a hoarse voice.

He smiled softly and reached into his pocket, pulling out a few credits and handing them over. She took them with a grateful smile and was about to verbally thank the stranger when a harsh voice came from the man's side.

“What are you doing, Roger? Ugh, filthy street trash,” the woman sneered. Latching onto the man's arm, she pulled him away and down the street, berating him as they went.

//Take a look at you and me,
are we too blind to see,
do we simply turn our heads
and look the other way //

**

The wind blew in sharp gusts down the alleyway, a bitter touch to its fingers as it caressed everything in its path with an icy chill.

A young child played quietly in the corner not far from the dumpster, pretending to enjoy a game whilst in reality he was waiting for the shop owners to make their usual trips out into the alley and dump their rubbish in the bin.

// Well the world turns
and a hungry little boy with a runny nose
plays in the street as the cold wind blows
In the ghetto //

This time he was lucky and he didn't have to wait for too long before the garbage began to flow. Watching warily, he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his torn jumper and made up his mind. Scuttling over to the dumpster, he shimmied up the side and began his search. He was lucky this time. Half a loaf of bread and a couple of apples that weren't too rotten found their way into his small hands.

Clutching his prizes, he scampers off through the streets and back to the abandoned building he's called home for as long as he can remember to show his mama what he's managed to find.

Wearily, she takes a few, small bites of the offered bread and then sinks her head back onto the mattress. Her body is wracked by coughing.

The following morning she is cold to the touch.

**

// And his hunger burns
so he starts to roam the streets at night
and he learns how to steal
and he learns how to fight
In the ghetto //

Eyes peered out from the shadows, the body completely blending in with his surroundings. He spots a target and waits patiently. As the person draws closer, he darts out from his hiding spot and collides with the person of interest.

“Hey! Watch where you're going!” the man snaps as he somehow manages to keep his balance.

“Sorry, mista. Din mean no `arm,” the small boy apologizes and then spins on his heels and takes off running down the street.

The man scowls, dusts himself off and continues to walk, unaware his hip pocket is now empty.

Several young faces look up in expectation as the young boy returns and places the spoils on their makeshift table. It's getting harder and harder to steal enough credits or find enough food to keep them all alive.

Fate is not done with him yet though.

He sucks on a ragged thumbnail, wondering how he's going to explain his torn clothes, scuffed books and bloody nose, and then decides he won't bother. The sister will have heard all about it by now anyway.

At least this time his opponents were the ones to be carted off to the medical center. Next time they would think twice before picking a fight with him.

His skills were certainly improving.

* *

Then in one night, it all came crashing down

//Then one night in desperation
a young man breaks away
He buys a gun, steals a car,
tries to run, but he don't get far
And his mama cries //

One suit.

One mobile suit is what they said.

He kept his side of the bargain. He got that mobile suit and brought it back.

The flames surrounded everything, ate all in their path and he had a hard time seeing through the smoke; but he found her.

He held the sister as she cried.

Held her in his arms as she died.

He screamed his anguish to the heavens.

* *

He couldn't let it happen again. He'd lost enough in his young life and wasn't about to lose any more if he could help it.

// As a crowd gathers 'round an angry young man
face down on the street with a gun in his hand
In the ghetto //

Fuck them all, he thought to himself as he cowered, gun in hand. The crowd had gathered around, curious to see what was going on. That part of human nature that had to know everyone else's business
driving them to be where they shouldn't.

He knew all he had to do was wait and his chance would present itself. But he didn't know if he had enough time. The vial of life saving serum bumped softly against his hip as he shifted his stance.

The crowd moved slightly, he saw his chance and took it, darting between bodies, blocking out the screams and avoiding the grabbing hands.

He didn't make it in time.

// As her young man dies,
on a cold and gray Chicago mornin',
another little baby child is born
In the ghetto //

With another gone from his life he roamed the streets, lost and bitter; his grief threatening to overwhelm him.

The bitterness became anger and slowly the anger bled into something more.

Revenge.

Squeezed tightly into a corner, squirreled away amongst the boxes of cargo, the young man felt the vibrations of the ship as it left the colony.

All he could do was hope and pray for a miracle.

In a run down, abandoned building another nameless face amongst the forgotten gave birth to a baby boy.

And so the cycle continues...

~ Owari ~