The Gangster's Dilemma

Cecelia scribbled the three words down on the page of her journal, admiring the swirl of the capital 'G' her pen had created. But somehow, the last word didn't quite fit. She vigorously marked a line through the writing and replaced it with a better descriptor. Now it read:

The Gangster's Dilemma Plight

Cecelia turned her attention back to the body of her writing, which had not yet come to fruition. There were endless possibilities, the great magnitude of which her mind could not pretend to comprehend. Instead, she put her pen to the page and started writing. 

One, among the many, things I have noticed in my journey across these strange, yet endearing and threatening lands, is the nature of hierarchy in this thing of ours. The title 'Gangster' brings to mind pictures of a bloodthirsty, conniving, and smooth-talking criminal who steals money through bank robbery as readily as they live the high life paid for by ventures similarly illegitimate. As one reaches out for a handshake, their other hand appears quickly with a knife, poised dangerously for their enemy and cautiously for their friend. 

However, it must be noted that as threatening these individuals appear to be, their lifespans are akin to fruit flies. Obituaries on a regular day are filled by their faces, listing again and again an unknown name of an unknown person, from a known place. The gangster of this world does not amount to much, if anything. They do not effectively exist in society as anything other than another seat taken up on the bus, another table filled at a restaurant, but all the while they are incredibly necessary. 

For every one of these individuals, these gangsters, act as fuel to these lasting flames of La Cosa Nostra. Behind every great leader, every successful Godfather, every tactful Don, every ambitious Consigliere, and every loyal boss is the story of a gangster. A gangster who climbed the ladder.  

But, there are many a gangster seated at the bottom of the ladder. Looking up, dazedly, towards the clouds and a blinding sunlight. Others will spur on their movement, dangling carrots and offering the world, but ultimately it is up to them if their feet move in a direction. Do their arms grasp the rungs? 

Cecelia let the question ring in her mind, feeling it necessary to give space between the prior lines and what she would write next. She wrote a few more words before crossing them out. With a breath, she put down her pen and closed the journal. For now.