Tre’Michael was only nine years old when the gunshots forever changed the rhythm of his childhood.
The boy still measures time by school days and weekends.
A young boy believed that safety came from laughter, friendship, and familiar faces.
On December 6th, in Alexandria, Louisiana, that belief was shattered in an instant.
A normal day with friends suddenly ends with blood, air raid sirens, and a question no mother should ever have to ask.
Why was my child shot?
Tre’Michael came to spend time with a ten-year-old boy whom he considered a friend.
They are children, bound together by play and closeness, not by malice or adult understanding.
No warning signs were posted that afternoon.
There was no sense that danger was lurking nearby.
At some point, a gun flew into the area where the children were standing.
And then it was shot.
The bullet lodged in Tre’Michael’s body, piercing through his innocence with terrifying precision.
That moment marked the end of childhood for more than one family.
When Lakisha Ledguies received the call, her world crumbled in panic.
She doesn’t remember how she got to the hospital.
She only remembered a heavy feeling in her chest and fear suffocating her.
That’s not my child.
That’s not my child.
Those words kept repeating in her head as she rushed towards her son.
Hospitals often tend to amplify fear.
The beeping of machines, hurried footsteps, and an unpleasant stench.
Lakisha arrived trembling, scrutinizing each face for answers.
She needs to see her child alive.
When she arrived, Tre’Michael was lying surrounded by a lot of medical equipment.
A breathing tube was inserted to help him breathe.
His small body lay strangely motionless under the bright hospital lights.
For a mother, there is no more heartbreaking sight than that.
Time passed slowly as the doctors worked to stabilize his condition.
Lakisha observed, prayed, and waited.
Every second feels like an eternity.
Finally, the catheter was removed.
Tre’Michael was able to speak.
And with his first words, he shattered any illusion that the shooting was an accident.
Mom.
Mom.
He deliberately tried to shoot me.
Those words, though spoken softly, had a devastating impact.
Those words echoed throughout the room, heavy with truth and fear.
Lakisha felt her knees tremble.
Her child didn’t guess at all.
He was telling her what he knew.
Initially, authorities described the incident as an accident.
That explanation offered no comfort whatsoever to a mother whose instincts told her otherwise.
Lakisha knew her son.
She knew his habits very well.
She knows the environment in which he grew up very well.
My child should not be exposed to guns.
Her intuition told her something was wrong.
As the investigation continued, the truth gradually came to light.
The available evidence no longer supports the hypothesis of an accident.
Later, police declared the shooting to be intentional.
A ten-year-old boy has been arrested.
Because of his young age, his name is not being revealed.
He has been charged with aggravated second-degree assault and illegal possession of a handgun.
The authorities placed the boy in the Renaissance Orphanage.
This news has caused a major shock in the community.
Two children.
A gun.
And the consequences went far beyond their comprehension.
Questions quickly arose afterward.
How did a child get access to a handgun?
Where are the adults?
Why are weapons placed within children’s reach?
The police have not yet answered those questions.
The silence surrounding the gun’s origins speaks volumes.
For Lakisha, the answer is important, but healing is even more important.
She devoted all her energy to helping her son recover his health.
Tre’Michael had to confront pain, confusion, and trauma far beyond his age.
Skin wounds can heal.
Emotional issues often take longer to resolve.
The nightmares still haunt me.
Trust has become fragile.
A child who once felt safe around friends now carries within them a deep-seated fear.
Every loud sound reminded him of that moment.
All memories have been altered.
However, Tre’Michael is still alive.
That alone was a miracle that the mother always clung to.
She sat beside him, held his hand, and reminded him that he was safe now.
She witnessed the boy relearning what it means to be a child.
Smiling without a trace of fear.
Sleep soundly without waking up suddenly.
Outside the hospital room, the world is debating responsibility.
Gun safety.
Raising children.
Accountability.
In the room, the mother whispered words of love into her son’s ear.
Lakisha has found her voice again after the ordeal.
She said it not in anger, but out of urgency.
Confiscate the guns.
Take them away.
They don’t need them.
Her plea was simple, stemming from a pain that no statistics could possibly express.
Children do not need to have access to weapons.
They need protection.
They need guidance.
They need adults who understand the consequences of negligence.
A GoFundMe fundraising campaign has been set up to help cover Tre’Michael’s treatment costs.
Over four thousand dollars have been raised.
But no amount of money can erase what has already happened.
It can only help the family get through the difficult period after the tragedy.
This story isn’t just about one boy.
This is the story of a society forced to confront uncomfortable truths.
On how easily childhood can be stolen.
Regarding how silence and inaction have cost so many lives.
Tre’Michael’s road ahead will not be easy.
But he walked on with the resilience of a survivor.
With a mother who refuses to let her son’s pain be ignored.
The entire community is watching closely, hoping to learn from this experience before another child is injured.
Because no child deserves to be told those things.
He deliberately shot me.
And no mother deserves to hear those words.
