I jumped up so fast as I dropped the box.
"What the Hell is that?" I exclaimed.
I stared right at. Sitting right in the center of the box was a severed hand. I couldn't help but stand there and stare at it. I thought to call 911 but they'll just suspect I did it. If only the world wasn't so racist. I hid the box in my closet behind my clothes and ran to city hall as fast as my skinny legs could carry me.
"I need to speak to Mayor.Beverly right away please!" I said to the lady at the front desk.
"Okay, but you must tell me your reasoning first sugar." she exclaimed.
"It's a bit personal, ma'am..."I said.
"Okay but she's gonna ask you."she exclaimed. "Ms.Beverly some crazy black guy is here to see you." she said as if I wasn't standing right in front of her.
"Send him in." Ms. Beverly said happily.
I ran into the Office of Thanks so fast that I thought my legs were burning off the carpet.
"Woah! Gabe! What's wrong, you look freaked." she asked.
"You're not gonna believe this but I just got a severed hand delivered onto my front porch in a box." I said freakishly.
"Why would anybody send a severed hand to you and who would even have a severed hand?" she asked.
I just looked at her in confusion and shook my head in discomfort.
"We should probably start having cops check it out..." she exclaimed.
"No! Please No!" I yelled.
"Well why not?" she asked in worriment.
"What if they think I did it just because I'm black. Or what if they take me to trial and the entire jury is racist and votes me guilty?" I asked.
"Don't worry, I will make sure that doesn't happen." she promised me.
She called for her best law enforcers to step onto the case. I watched as they all lined up inside of her office. I couldn't help but think that at least one of them were thinking I did this mess.
About 20 minutes later they all came back in the neatest line you'll ever see.
"We think we found who's done this." One tall man said in an aggressively deep voice.
He then pulled out a black and white photo of a white male with an insanely bushy unibrow, a curl hanging from the center if his hair as if he was in Grease or was the star of one of the original Superman movies, a pink head band rapped around his forehead, and of course a pimply face. But I couldn't help but think I noticed him.
"His name is James Howard." The officer said.
"Wait a minute." I said in an uneasy tone.
"James Howard was the name of my father before he got the electric chair. It was really hard for me and my mother to get over."
The only thing I wondered was how? How was my dad the person who gave me?
How is my dad even alive?
Unless. No. It's not possible. At least I don't think it is. Is it?
YOU ARE READING
The Color Doesn't Matter...
RomanceDon't Judge a book by it's cover they say.... But they continue to judge a Human by their skin. This has finally pulled that last little straw right out of my cup because I'm completely sick of it now. I also have a lot more books on my story bird a...
