Dark Skin

05: k n i v e s.

❛Being honest may not get you a lot of friends
but it'll always get you the right ones.❜
- John Lennon.
 

 
 
 

➳

 
 
 

Tears brimmed in my dark eyes as I registered his actions, again and again. Nobody deserves to be treated like this, neither a Black nor a White. We are all humans here but this thought which had to be voiced out, lacked significant power in it. It needed a voice, a powerful one. The fact that now I was part of the bullied kids made my head hurt already.

 

It was not like I have never been bullied before. In my previous school, abode for a mix of students, I was a victim too, except for this time the bully wasn't someone with the same racial background as mine. You read it right. I was bullied by a popular, dark-skinned, girl. Race is nothing when you want to hurt people, but acknowledging the fact that we are all human beings who would return back to the same soil, does.

Isioma Obi.

Hundreds of reasons could be listed to portray why she was popular with such an uncommon, but pretty, name. Nigerian blood ran through her veins while cash rested in her purse and pockets, lots of them. She was the stereotypical rich girl with the body of a model, the brains of an average person and the manners of assholes. It wasn't until the last day of school at Lone Pine High School that I had finally given her a taste of her own medicine.

Shock would be an understatement because her face had the craziest expression writtten all over. In fact, after having showered her with drops of reality, she remained quiet with a gaping mouth.

The bad memories pertaining to Isioma made me feel even more sorrowful and tears were now leaving my face. But soon enough, someone found them.

 

 
 
 

"Oh my!" A soft voice exclaimed, causing me to lift up my eyes. And I see a girl looking at me with knitted eyebrows.

"Please stop," I made a plea. I couldn't take this anymore. That was enough for a first day at school. Being told about how different I was and how bad it was, made me feel awful. "I-I'm not-," I sobbed, "-not at fault if I was bo-born this way!"

The girl stared at me, completely shocked by my words, "What are you talking about? You're crying! What happened?" Immediately, she took my hands in hers and placed a hanker chief, filled with flower motif, on it. "Stop crying, okay? Talk to me. I am here."

Her nice words warmly embraced my heart that was recently stabbed by burning knives.

 

"You care?" I asked curiously and carefully.

"Oh god! Of course!" She scolded me, just like a friend would. "Now let me help. What happened? Why were you crying?"

I supposed, after those atrocious comments, I finally found a friend who would help me heal. I just hoped she would not turn out like the boy with fair skin because my heart was willing to trust her.