histórias de Reparations

Everyone has a past, a future and a present. At one point she wasn't sure she was going to get one. It's 1955; Natasha Lander lives in her comfortable flat on Piccadily row with her housemate-turned-fiancé, Joseph Litten, and tutors art to a class of teenage students. But things weren't always this way. Her home was not always on Piccadily row. Her language of choice was not always the Queen's English. Her name was not always Natasha Lander. One letter could bring everything back to her doorstep. (ONESHOT) (Original story and all characters belong to me.) © Avi Clarice (@acemajordreamer), all rights reserved.

America, 2031. The states have used the lesser known "national convention" path to pass the 28th Amendment: reparations for Black Americans. Thirty-nine states voted in favor of "two-eight", as it's generally called; eleven refused to ratify, mostly former Confederate members. Ensuing legislation provided Black Americans with subsidized mortgages (H.R.4021 - "The Blue Line Act"), monetary compensation for time served on lesser drug offenses (H.R.4028 - "The Freedom Act"), and most controversially, the ability to seek damages in state and local courts for documented instances of past racial violence (H.R.4032 - "Truth and Reconciliation Act"). Pursuant to H.R.4032 ("The Truth and Reconciliation Act"), Congress creates a department tasked with building markers and monuments to commemorate documented discrimination and acts of violence against Black Americans, North and South. These federally supported committees include historians empowered to scour local archives and previously recorded history to accurately report and locate acts of past discrimination. Their popularity is high in states who ratified the amendment, abysmal in those states who refused. After several riots and one high-profile killing, U.S. Marshalls are attached to every "truth teller" commission that enters a state who refused to ratify. Local resentment remains, and many markers and monument are defaced once constructed. But when a federal commission sends a two-person team to a rural Indiana community to commemorate a 1951 segregation murder, the integrity of this public confession is tested. While documenting one murder, the historians uncover a crime at the molten core of the reparations movement. And when the wrongdoings implicate not just the residents, but the State's Constitutional Delegate, a choice will be made on how much one community will sacrifice to redeem the past.

Jimmy's curiosity falls to deep and the past comes back to byte him in the ass.

I hear the rumblings, see the written words of repentant souls, looking for a way to begin again, knowing that will never be. So, they search for salvation in confessionals, in letters they write in the night, when sleep cannot be found, nor the peace of mind they so desperately need. This blog has some rather large and seemingly difficult words to express their unanswered prayers, supplications, compromises... no compromises in life, once a choice is made. I understand your frustrations, your inability to let go of your iniquities, your compulsions to do that which serves you - knowing that you will pay the greater price in the end. Why? What is it really about? I've written a letter for my own self-serving, narcissistic, arrogant choices, pleading with my soul to just go, break free, so that I can no longer contaminate its purity in purpose. I cannot hear its good intentions, its better advice - and I suppose, if I could, I'd still choose this path. How do I stop being ME? HOW DO YOU STOP BEING ... YOU?

If you're seeing this book please read it. I hope this can be a lesson for all of you out there struggling with the same things that I am. It's been a long journey and I still can't see the end, but I felt like I just needed to write this down. And in spirit I hope the guy I'm writing this for reads it, somehow. I know he won't though, and even if he does somehow stumble across this he probably won't know it's about him. To him I'm an Iceberg. The things he knows about me and how I feel about him are the cap. the only part he sees. But there's so much more, deep down. But if you're reading this right now, in this very moment I just want to say thank you...

Basically, it's Supernatural™ but Harry Potter. Massive reparations have long since been a burden for the Malfoy family, forcing them to enter the workforce. It's been eleven years since the war, and Draco Malfoy is now a skilled Dispeller for the Ministry's Spirit Division. He used to pride himself on maintaining a healthy work-life balance, but that changed when Harry's ghost showed up to haunt Malfoy Manor. Draco, although reluctantly, has to figure out who killed his former rival in order for his spirit to move on, as it seems like the most logical course of action. But Harry, on the other hand, becomes attached to more than a sense of justice after realizing how much Draco has matured. He's almost proud, but another feeling overshadows that. *NOT A CROSS-FIC. This fanfiction is only written in the STYLE of Supernatural.