He is a man trying to chase a dream in a city of nightmares. This city, with it’s pretentious lights and grandiloquent population, practically lures people in with it’s falsification of a new life. Many fall for it’s clever deception, and almost all fail. Some say that Malcolm Wilson is just one of many of those hopeless individuals trying to catch nothing. They will soon learn, however, that he wasn’t. This is the story of the star gazer.
****

The alarm clock topples over the nightstand and onto the floor with an exaggerated smack. Beads of sweat dribble down Malcolm's forehead as he realizes what is about to come. He rushes to the window and hurriedly peers out into the Brooklyn night. It is 3:00 AM. Time for the war to start. Malcolm scrambles around his studio apartment to get dressed before it starts. He puts on his jacket and is about to head out of the door when he comes to an abrupt halt. Going to the drawer in his dresser, he pulls out his grandfather’s Colt 1911. Now he is ready. Taking a deep breath, he steps out of his door and into the battleground.

The air around him smells of crisp pollution and despair. He scouts his surroundings, keeping a keen ear on any odd noises. Malcolm starts up a slow trot to the street corner, where Darius told everyone to meet. And if Darius told him to meet up there, he sure was going to listen. Darius, a 6’4 bald African American man, was not one to mess with. He was the most menacing in the gang Malcolm was apart of, the brooklyn bakers, which got its name from its high distribution rate of drugs.
Now Malcolm, reminiscing on his past with the gang, gets awoken from his trance from a thunderous boom coming behind him. He whips around, only to see his friend Jermaine banging a trash can with a stick.

“Hahaha! I got you fool! You shoulda seen yourself man! I ain’t ever seen you move that fast!” Jermaine says in between bursts of laughter.

“Oh, I’m the fool? What’s wrong with you?! You could have gave away our position!” Malcolm spits back furiously.

“Calm down man. Ain’t my fault you a pansy. Besides, those muchachos can’t hear anything.” Jermaine said.

Jermaine is Malcolm’s best friend. He is mixed, has a mini afro, and is a pain in Malcolm’s ass. But Malcolm sticks up with him anyway. They’ve helped each other survive the urban jungle for 15 years, after all. Now the two friends sit there, waiting for the rest of the Bakers.

Jermaine and Malcolm were on the corner for almost two hours, with nobody showing up. It was coming on the crack of dawn, and they both have nothing to prove for it. While Malcolm was simply puzzled, Jermaine was absolutely enraged.

“Man, who do they think they playin us as? A buncha simple minded, brainless fools? The nerve of those mother…” he says in anger.

“Hey! Calm down, alright. Something probably came up and we just didn’t get the memo.”

“Are you serious right now? We’ve been waiting for two hours, man! You can have fun waiting for your master with your puppy dog ass, but I’m out.,” Jermaine retorted.

Malcolm heaves a sigh and starts to follow Jermaine. They made it about a block when they heard gunshots in the distance.

Malcolm and Jermaine turn on a dime in the other direction and sprint to where they heard the earsplitting sounds. They see Darius, shooting one of his fellow Bakers square in the chest. A dozen others were littered around him. The only ones standing were Darius and several members of the gang they were supposed to be at war with, the Guerreros. Malcolm then sees Jermaine’s brother, Marcus, who is one of the bodies on the ground. Malcolm goes back behind the building where him and Jermaine are hiding and stares at Jermaine with deep sympathy.

“Why you giving me those puppy eyes? What did you see?” Jermaine asks.

“Alright, J. I’m going to tell you something. And when you hear it, you are going to have to promise me you won’t do anything rash. Okay?”

“Yeah, whatever. Lay it on me.”

“Actually, j-just look for yourself.”

Confused, Jermaine looks out on to the street and the massacre that just occurred. He then sees Marcus. Lifeless, ice cold Marcus. Jermaine, with a head of steam, rushes out to Darius and tackles him with full force.

“Traitor! You traitor! Why would you do this? Why?” Jermaine screams amidst the tears streaming down his cheeks.

Darius gives a swift blow to Jermaine’s neck, the ferocity of the hit paralyzing Jermaine with pain.

“Of course you would go to the wrong address. Imbecile. Oh well, it only means you will get dealt your fate now.”


****

Malcolm reflects on this event many years later, wondering if things would’ve gone differently if he hadn’t jumped in front of the bullet. Jermaine is living out the rest of his days now, something Malcolm doesn’t have the luxury of. What if he didn’t sacrifice his life? He could’ve just ran away, like nothing ever happened. But then again, if he did that, he wouldn’t be remembered like he is today. Well, he can’t do anything about it now.
All he can do is gaze. Gaze from the stars.