What's the Worst That Could Happen? - Awareness Story

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔

     

     "And they attacked him and you because you were..."

"...Black. Yes." Zora's mom finished her sentence.

She wiped some tears from her eyes now, as Esme kept watching, feeling her heart break at the sight.

"Do you miss him?" Zora asked quietly.

"Every day." her mom bit down on her bottom lip out of nervousness before talking. "Look, darling... This world is not safe. Not for us, for me and you. Sadly we are and will continue getting judged and looked upon just for the color of our skin if nothing changes. This is why I always worry for you and for your future. You're very smart, I know you've read things online already. I don't want you to live in fear nor be ashamed of who you are, and I'll do everything in my power to protect you for my whole life. What happened to your dad was a tragedy, another name added to the list of innocent souls who lost their life simply for existing." Her voice was stern and full of emotion, looking straight at her daughter. "I just want you to know what the truth is. You're still young, but you will go through your own fair share of experiences. That is something I cannot control no matter how hard I try. But remember that none of the things you will go through are your fault. Okay? Everything you see online, on TV, every new tragedy, all of it, comes from people who are unable to understand that some of us may be different on the outside but we're all the same from the inside. The same." She was now standing in front of her daughter, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Be proud of who you are, enjoy your life, be safe, and honour the people that were lost trying to give us equal rights. They were all brave and they were all warriors. Including your father." she bent down, smiling apologetically at Zora. "I love you."

"I love you too." Zora was evidently emotional as well. 

For an 8 year old child, she was handling this better than anyone would expect. She rose a little on her stool and gave her mom a tight hug, which her mom returned. Esme was struggling to not cry right now. Zora had told them about this before. Her mind started thinking of the people she had heard lost their lives due to racism in the past few years. George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Elijah McClain. As well as the many more murders that they had talked about in social studies. She started seeing images. Images of death, cruelty, injustice, pain. It was horrible. She couldn't begin to imagine how it must've felt, how it must've been, having to live in fear like this and having to protect yourself from the people that are supposed to protect you. It was unfair. It is unfair. Why are we cruel like this?

"I'm so sorry..." Esme mumbled under her breath to Zora and her mom, even though they couldn't hear her.

And to think that every one of the other kids in her school could be going through the same or similar experiences. It's disturbing to think about. She felt the urge to go up to Zora and hug her, as well as her mom. 

     The bell rang. Zora's mom gestured towards the door, silently asking her to go open it and so she did, as an older woman now stepped inside. She was also dressed in black. Zora hugged her, and they all sat down at the table while waiting for Zora's aunt to come, as she had mentioned previously. Esme was waiting along with them, looking as they talked before a loud thud shook her up. She was stunned for a moment but didn't think much of it, until there was a second thud. It seemed to be coming from the door Zora's mom walked in to get the photo. She hesitated for quite a bit but eventually stood up and slowly made her way to the door. She took one last glance at the family who seemed to be doing just fine as they waited and talked, before slowly turning the door handle, expecting to find herself inside a bedroom. But she didn't. The room was pitch black. She didn't even know if it was a room. She turned around to head back, but then a figure started forming in front of her. It was that of an African-American man, and it looked like he was sitting inside a white car, a woman next to him. She was also African-American, filming the man next to her, and he looked like he was talking with someone outside the window. Soon enough the man standing outside the window became clear as well. He was a white man, a police officer. She soon enough came to the realisation that they were arguing rather than talking. The man was gesturing to himself and his wife while talking, and at one point he turned around to reach for something next to him when the police officer pulled out his gun. And he shot him. Twice. That's when it was like Esme's ears were unplugged, and screaming erupted. It was a scream of terror coming from the woman next to the now dead man.

"Oh my God! Oh my God, no! No, no, no!" she yelled while shaking him, hoping he was still alive.

"I thought he was going to pull a gun out." the police officer retorted.

"He's dead! He's dead! You murdered him! You murdered my husband!" the woman yelled, crying and shaking.

The police officer instead slowly stepped away from the car, leaving the woman alone as she cradled her husband's body in her arms, bursting out. Esme took a step back, speechless. Two more figures showed up behind the car. A different situation. An African-American woman, she was pregnant. Another police officer was standing in front of her car. She was shot. Shot thrice. More figures next to them. A white male, pressing an African-American man with pressure against a police car, a gun against his head as he screamed in agony, saying he had done nothing wrong. She saw Zora's dad getting kicked around and punched to death. More gunshots, more stabbings, more deaths. The screams kept getting multiplied by the minute. Getting louder, and louder... Esme's heart was beating faster than ever. There were so many people. She saw groups of people swarming around her, holding up signs and yelling things altogether. She couldn't tell what they were saying exactly, but she knew they were protesting and judging by the signs they were holding, it was against racism. So many people, so much yelling, so much crying, so much misery, so much pain. She felt her mind getting foggy. Her head started hurting and her knees were struggling to hold her up. So much noise. Her eyes landed on every single one of the figures at least twice, as she felt herself growing weaker each time. She didn't recognize many of them. Barely any, in fact. She just knew that what was unfolding in front of her was years upon years of cruelty and injustice, against people of color. She didn't know what was going on still, nor why, but she couldn't tear her eyes off. She spotted Zora amongst all the people. But this was a different situation than the one she had just witnessed. She was crying, huddled up against her bed. Shaking. She wasn't 8 anymore but 18, just as she had met her. The photo she stared at was at her feet, and her eyes were glued to it. Esme couldn't bear it anymore after a few more seconds passed. She wanted to leave... Whatever this place was. She felt she had enough. She acknowledged that was reality, and it made her sick in her stomach. She pressed her hands against her ears as she tried to shut out all the noise, her eyes shut as well. She tried to control her breathing and relax, mumbling a song her mom used to sing to her when she was scared as a kid, slowly taking a few steps back before she felt her back pressing against the door. The same door she had stepped in here from. She let out a shaky breath, as she quickly turned around and opened the door, rushing out and slamming it shut behind her. She leaned against it, her eyes still closed as she felt a different kind of pain she hadn't felt before. Part of her wanted to erase it all from her mind and just forget. But another part of her knew she had to see this. Slowly opening her eyes, and she realised she wasn't in Zora's kitchen anymore.

"Thank god..." she uttered.

She found herself sitting up on her bed again just like before this madness. She felt the warmth and comfort of her house embracing her. She was back home. But the pictures in her head were still there.