Dried blood marked the streets as a permanent reminder that the cops were there to kill not heal. The cops was there to snatch lives away not take the pain away. They were put in place to detain the whites and sustain the obvious racism that plagued the community. They only came in to work to be paid for being murderers with a license and currency.
The cracked concrete of the sidewalk signified the neglect that Highland Heights faced, the boarded up nearby one story homes signified the poverty that was creeping into their zone, the abandoned playground signified the lack of safety in the slums walls, and the stand alone corner store with the Indian man running its register signified the only place that accepted their impoverish kind without assuming they'd try to steal anything worth a dime. Everything told a story starting from the streets and the sidewalks to the alleyways and as far as the eyes could see.
Tyshawns mother stood by the place where her son took her last breath. Her along with many people weeping hung their heads as well and prayed. Osairus wished he could weep with them but all his life he watched as people bled, so as a defense mechanism to the pain he often turned his head. He couldn't really feel bad for Tyshawn since he never really knew the boy for anything other than bullying, but he could feel for his mother knowing that every rightminded mother wanted a full life for their child or children— Tyshawn didn't get that and neither did five of the other boys.
It wasn't nothing new, you know murder in the community, in fact it was sickening to Osairus to see that it only hurt people when it was whites doing the killing but when its someone in the community, people went along with their day and no one hardly had anything to say. Violence seemed to plague his childhood home and he could see things worsening on its own. The government could care less about the people which is why there was hardly any cases being solved, and if there was some being solved nine times outta ten it was a white issue— meaning a more important issue.
Osairus stood across the street from the families who shared their condolences and looked down the sidewalk seeing the blood from the murders go all the way down into the cracks and crevices. Zoning into his thoughts, he heard the shooting replay again inside his head as it had done the past four days since the shooting. Osairus was so deep in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed when his best friend Najai, or Saint as he was nicknamed as a child, tapped him on his shoulders.
"That shit right thea sick boa." Saint said looking in the same direction. "I heard it took the ambulance mad long to get hea too that true?"
