Separate But Not Equal

Chapter III

Nieve instantly halts, overtaken by shock and bewilderment, her complexion turning from ebony, brown to a sickly, dark greyish colour. Her face drains, in a dreadful picture of illness. Her lips turn dry and start trembling, and she instantly falls to the ground on her knees, head in hands.

"What?" she barely mutters, gripping her clothes, intensely with her week, shaking hands.

I'm pretty sure my face perfectly mirrors the terrified expression on hers. My whole body dead, lifeless, hopeless, in a constant state of paralysis.

Fear cuts through me, like a knife created purely of ice. Torturous cries of mercy and death, ring and bleed through my ears, as thoughts of being lynched, murdered at the age of seventeen, run through my head.

There are so many things I haven't done, yet. So many things I haven't seen. So many people I haven't met.

Somewhere deep down in my heart, I guess, I've always known the possibility of living a comfortable, satisfactory life, in the most segregated city in America, is minuscule.

Yet, even though, It's nearly impossible to be a successful, respected and happy, African-American in the 1960's, I have hope that one day this will all be over.

I have hope one day segregation will be over,

I have hope that one day we'll have freedom.

And When that day comes, I want to be there, I want to be there to at least see it.

I want to know what it feels like to love and to be loved as my parents loved each other and me.

Crazy. I know.

To be able to speak the truth, without the never ending threat of danger, or being killed.

To be treated as a human being and not like some animal.

To be treated equally.

If these people see me, then I will not live to see that day, or any others.

'Then move, crawl, walk, run, sprint' points out the irritable voice in the back of my head, with logical reasoning.

For once.

It's right.

I need to move.

Now.

Nieve refuses to look through the bushes, tears streaming down her face, one after another, sniffling her nose, mouthing the words: "Oh my god, Oh my god, Oh my god,"
while repeatedly rocking herself back and forth, moving her head, like a madman.

A fair amount of people, bodies hidden, faces covered, apart from the icy-cold, lifeless eyes, filled with despair.

Tall white hat-like triangles hovering over their heads and long white cloaks masking their appearance. Like ghosts, but worse. Absolutely soulless, like an absence, a disturbing image branded into my head.

A stomach-turning feeling rushes through me. The urge to throw up growing more prominent by the second.

They were laughing, immaturely dancing around the church, taunting it, while stood next to a cross.

A burning cross.

Outside The Church.

16th Baptist street church.

A church filled with people.

Good people.

Innocent people.

People that deserve to be treated equally

Not how we're treated.

Their jeering and echoes through my head, like an intentional reminder.