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way it is always goin' be."
A wife said this to her husband, while cooking him bacon and eggs when suddenly she looked up and happened to see the youngest Lawson boy step outside to get the morning paper. She dropped the skillet and stared in horror as Justin read the letter about his brother's attorney.

"Herb! Come here, quick!" the wife beckoned to her husband.

"What is it, Gloria? I'm trying to eat," Herb replied with an annoyed chew.

"Sweet Jesus, my Savior, help me! Herb, you don't get yo' lazy ass off that chair and come to this window- so help me God, you are gonna wear this skillet!"

Herb heard a tone in his wife's voice he had not detected in years-passion. Passion? Gary had long since sapped her of any feeling. Watching children be killed in the streets by children had left her empty; hollow. He got up from the table and walked over to his wife.

As he looked out of the window, he too, saw Justin Lawson. The boy who was now fourteen had fallen to his knees in the middle of the lawn. He clutched the newspaper tightly between two flattened palms and tears were running freely down his face and he was whispering frantically toward the heavens. Herb hesitated only for a second before he left his house.

He cautiously crossed the street towards Justin and he found himself thinking about a time when everyone desired justice. He could vaguely remember the days of the civil rights movement and all the men and women who had died. They had died for the right to be recognized as American citizens. Herb had been fortunate he had been born in 1956 and was still a child in the heat of the battle. He remembered the feeling of relief he had during his teenage years that he never had to endure the life those legends who came before him did.

Looking at the boy, though, changed that feeling of relief into one of fury. Herb could only wonder how long a race of people had to cry out into the wilderness for justice before it was granted. He wondered if justice was granted or if it had to be taken by force.

"Hey there, son," Herb called out softly. Justin finished his prayer and looked up at Herb. The man had changed over the years, the work in the steel mills had left him more worn for the weather. Gray hairs were springing up in various locations on his head, his eyes seem to strain a little more, and his skin had a grimy look from the soot of the machines.

"Hi, Mr. Pearson. Guess you heard about my brother," Justin asked, his voice breaking and his eyes downcast.

"Yeah, and I uh-was

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