LUCIOUS & COOKIE: TUG OF WAR (REMASTERED)

THE AFTERMATH

Dear God, how did this happen?

My thoughts are racing, the busy hands of strangers working around me at a frenzied pace, as the ambulance zoomed along the jagged New York pavement towards the hospital.

The back of my hand cleared the profuse moisture along my chin, tears drizzling through my eyes nonstop as I continued to visually examine my baby's motionless form.

She's not responding, not moving an inch and I don't know what to do, my heart feels like it's about to leap up my chest and through my throat.

Watching the paramedics start connecting all kinds of tubes and devices onto Laylah's body, my hand latched onto her leg in search of some glimmer of hope.

"We've got a pulse." The tall brown skinned EMT lurched towards his partner, shortly thereafter.

A slow beep echoing through the heart monitor, we seem to be flying through the streets, the driver rapidly spouting info to emergency room dispatcher over the radio and giving them the heads up that we're only about one minute out.

"Ma'am, Ma'am." The EMT called out towards me, heading snapping up onto her face, shaking loose from my trance. Her partner's hands applying an oxygen mask along my daughter's face. 

"Ma'am, does your daughter have any major medical issues, is she allergic to anything?" She rattled off along with so many other questions I'm kinda finding it hard to keep up.

My eyes just keep shifting downward onto my baby girl, covered with blood, they cut her shirt open so they could assess the damage, but I still can't tell exactly where she's been hit. She's so pale, the vibrancy of her spirit seemingly seeping from her through the massive amount of blood covering her chest.

My body jerked as the ambulance came to an abrupt stop, everyone's attention immediately shifting back towards the heart monitor, an uninterrupted squeal throughout the air, my heart dropped, as tears streamed down my face at the sight of a flat line along the screen.

"We're losing her." The paramedic shouted, her hands instinctively interlacing as she began CPR chest compressions.

WAIT...WHAT DO YOU MEAN...LOSING HER? My brain screamed, the rear doors flying open, a team of doctors and nurses on the other end ready to assist. The stretcher hit the ground and I jumped out right behind it.

This cannot be happening, not to my baby...Jesus...I can't lose this child.

The doctor took the chart from the female paramedic and began to get more facts as they rolled her along through the halls in a blur.

"What do we have?" He calmly probed. My heels rapidly clacked against the pavement as my arm rested against that of my daughter.

"Two & a half year-old African American female, gunshot wound to the chest, no exit wound discovered from the initial evaluation, no known allergies or other medical conditions." She explained.

Frantically walking beside the stretcher now holding my child's hand, the doctor jotting down a few notes while the EMT's continued, my heart is bounding against my chest.

"We had her stable, lost the pulse for a couple of seconds just as we pulled up, but my partner was able to quickly get it back, although it's extremely weak and faint. This is her mother; she rode along with us." He advised.

My hand now on top of Laylah's stomach, fresh tears rolling down my cheek, because it's barely even falling up and down at this point. I faintly heard the doctor began to delegate orders to his staff.

"Alright, we have the OR ready, let's get her up there and prepped stat. Ma'am...." He muttered. Halting in front of me as the nurses rolled Laylah off through a set of double doors.