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The Train Ride Contest Winner

Congratulations to our very first contest winner @wordtoyamother for this riveting entry...

He stumbled through the doors of the subway, losing his shoe to the railings as he fell inside of the closing doors. He grabbed at the edge of a seat, pulling himself to his feet despite the throbbing pain that ran through his body.

He gripped at the seat tight enough that the plastic cut into his skin, leaving imprints in his palm. Please close. Please close. Please, please close. He willed the doors to shut, letting out a shaky breath of relief as he heard the soft beep, signifying the closing of the subway doors.Thank you, he thought, silently praising the gods of the universe.

He hobbled across the aisle and plopped himself down in an empty seat, wincing at the pain that shot through him with his every movement. He took a handkerchief out of his suit pocket, and wiped at the dried blood sticking to his face. His hands trembled as he scrubbed at the caked mass of dried fluid, staining his body. He groaned against the pain of the force on his open wounds.

He dropped the handkerchief into his lap, unable to contain his anguish any longer. Each painful pat at his injuries was a reminder of who had caused them. He let his head fall into his hands and sobbed.

The people around him shirked away from him as his body heaved with the weight of a thousand woes. I just wanted to help. I only wanted to help. The thought echoed through his head as he bawled uncontrollably into his hands.

He only wanted to help, to save his people and this was the thanks he got. Tears, burned the wounds on his face, where ringed knuckles had dug into his skin.

They had beat him, mercilessly.

He forced himself to stop crying, to be grateful that he had escaped with his life. If he hadn't been able to out run them, they would have killed him. He knew it. He'd never seen so much hate before. The disgust in their eyes burrowed into his thoughts and he felt tears burn at the back of his eyes again.

He took the laminated flyer out of his pocket and stared at it. The hopes and dreams he'd had for the community center evaporated in front of his eyes. How could they hate him so much? He was just like them. A black man, trying his best to navigate this world that treated him as a second class citizen.

He'd worked his butt off to get where he was and all he ever wanted to do was give back. To rebuild the city he'd grown up in. To give young black girls and boys a safe place. A place to learn. A place to grow.

He crumpled up the flyer, broadcasting his "grand opening". To hell with that now. He would never be able to go back home. Now that they knew, they would kill him if they ever saw him again.

He rested his head on the glass of the subway window, letting the vibrations soothe him as his body and brain became numb to everything around him.

He had nothing left to give and no one left to help.

They had spit on him and kicked him and called him nothing; and he was beginning to believe it.

He was bleeding and crying on a train, his friends and family disgusted with him. His hometown ready and willing to kill him. A failed business venture, crumpled at his feet. Maybe he was nothing.

Nothing to anyone.

All because he had decided to be who he was. To love himself.

He lost his will to cry, to move. He let his eyes close as the soft hum of the train on the tracks lulled him to sleep.

He felt a sharp sting travel up his leg and opened his eyes to two young boys with scowls across their faces.

As the delirium of sleep cleared he realized he recognized them as the two boys that helped him construct the floor plan for his building. He felt a surge of disappointment work its way through him at the sight of them.

"Wake up fag!" The first young man kicked at his leg.

"Yea, you trans freak." The second boy shouted as he shoved him across the subway seats.

He closed his eyes, he couldn't bear to see the hate inside of the two young men that had once looked at him with admiration.

"Open your eyes freak." One of the boys shouted at him.

He shut his eyes tighter, refusing to let the hate in.

"He said open your eyes!" The second voice screamed as a pair of hands grabbed at his suit, slinging him to the dirty subway floor.

He felt his hand being crushed under the weight of a heavy boot and he cried out, "Please, all I ever wanted to do was help you."

He opened his eyes as warm breath hit his face. The young man had crouched in front of him, his eyes clouded with anger and hate.

"We don't need your help." The young man spit.

He reached out for the boy, feeling his heart ache for him. He was just an angry young man, oppressed by the system; a product of his environment. The young man didn't want to hate him. He had to hate him or be doomed to suffer his fate.

In that moment of understanding he wanted nothing more than to let the young man know that he was loved. He wanted to shower the boy in the affection that was never granted to him. He had to let him know it wasn't his fault.

He squeezed the young man's shoulder with his free hand, "I forgive you." He whispered as he shut his eyes, letting his body relax as the weight of the world left his shoulders.

"I don't need your forgiveness, you freak." The young man delivered a kick to his head, sending a wave of pain, ringing through his body.

He opened his eyes to the young man again, "I forgive you." He said again.

The young man gritted his teeth, as fury set in his features. He pulled a sleek, silver gun out of his back pocket, "Say it again and I'll kill you."

The young man was seething with rage. Seething with the afflictions of a black man. Weighted with burdens that no child should have to carry.

"I forgive you." He let the words hang in the air as they freed him from his grief, setting his soul free from his body before the shot rang through the air.

ALL black lives should matter. To EVERYONE.

#ABLSMTE