On the way to the police station I had no particular thought in mind. Feeling the weight of the cold metal pressing into my back, I was aware of how much power the weapon held.
Normally, I would've preferred to do this with a rifle from the roof, but I wanted to make it as personal as possible as personal as they did
As I was going, I thought back to what was driving me to this one act of violence. That terrible night....
I'm the only pure white kid in a black family, being left on the doorstep of a church one cold Christmas morning.
The black church pastor took me in as one of his own. Bringing me up as well as he could with his other 4 children and with as much money he was allowed to have in such a black-prohibitive environment.
Although I wasn't as rich as the other white kids. I was happy, one thing I've noticed was how well my family shouldered and sheltered me from all the hate and bias they were given.
One fateful night when I was 19, my whole viewpoint on the world changed.
It was the night of the school prom, and I was a nominee to be prom king. My black brothers and sisters were all around me, cheering me on and helping me with my nervousness.
That was until the eldest, Michael had to go back to help ma, who was battling with dinner. Michael told me and then everyone else where he was going, which was sort of a custom in our family.
The prom party went well into the night, and the highlight was me being crowned the prom king.
As we came home, the table was empty and my mum was wailing on the floor.
I supported her and asked her what happened, while my brother called out for Michael
Between sobs, she said
"Don't bother, Michael didn't make it home. He was run over.."
"How do you know that?" I asked in disbelief.
"The culprits called." She answered
Her sadness then turned to rage...
"They were laughing Jude. Laughing." She shaked with emotion. It was the first time I saw her like this.
The idea of Michael, dieing was so foreign to me. He was one of the best people in my life, my big brother.
He was there when I was taken in, through my infant and my early puberty. He taught me how to shave. Was there when Dad died and stood as a father to the younger ones and mom.
I didn't know when I started crying, one minute I was holding my mom, next I was on the floor.
"Did you call the cops?" I heard one of my siblings say.
"They shrugged it off, saying Michael didn't look where he was going." she spat in disgust.
"All whites are the same."
My ears turned red at that statement, I know I should feel offended, but I had to agree. The discrimination was abysmal, this was the last straw.
I couldn't stay with her anymore, so I went to the shed.
I laid there thinking.
Thinking about how one could hate another just because of the colour of their skin.
Thinking how it's so easy for the whites to suppress, discriminate, hit, injure and sometimes kill the blacks.
Thinking of why the police would just let it go because they're white too.
Thinking why the blacks don't fight back.
Thinking why the blacks don't have anyone to fight for them.
That's when it clicked. I finally understood what was going to happen. I decided that very night that I was going to be the one to set things straight.
Using my white privilege, I'll make it a clean slate. They killed my brother, so it's only fair, I kill one of theirs.
I looked around the shed, for some kind of weapon. I remembered my dad owning a rifle when he went hunting, before the whites deemed it illegal for blacks to hold firearms.
Dad was a bit of an arms lover though, so he gave the police some and hid the others. I searched everywhere in the shed but I only saw a small revolver. It was in fairly good condition too.
I took out the bullets and with a bit of paint from the shed, I painted them white.
With all my preparations made, I went to sleep.
The next day, at the break of dawn. I headed out with the revolver in my jeans.
Upon reaching the police building, I steeled my mind at what I had intended to do. Forgetting all the pastoral teachings that I've been taught.
For God wouldn't have allowed Michael to die like that, and He wouldn't allow the culprits to still roam free.
As I was about to enter the building to commit genocide and possibly suicide, for it's unlikely they won't fire back. I heard my name
"Jude!!.." I turned back to see my mother calling at me. She ran and hugged me, crying into me.
"I'm sorry for what I said, John." She cried harder into my shoulder.
"It was wrong of-" "I don't hold any grudge to you Ma.." I interrupted her with tears in my eyes too.
"It's perfectly reasonable for you to say something like that, I hate the whites too." I proclaimed.
She calmed down and asked me, "Why are you here?"
At the question, I felt the coldness of the barrel against my back.
I realized what I was about to do, and I shivered visibly.
As I was about to answer, a policeman came out and dragged my mum off me.
He dragged her, calling her a pickpocket and apologized to me, while he ignored her pleas and explanation.
I tried explaining to him but he didn't listen , instead he brought out a baton to use and beat her and then I saw it in his eyes.
That look of joy, the look of dominance he had when he looked at my colored mum. I knew that he enjoyed what he was doing and he didn't plan to hear, listen or be moved by her pleas.
I stepped back as he raised his baton and with a shaky breath but a clear mind, I drew my gun.
Well, if you look at my recent posts, it's quite clear that the theme of racism has been in my mind. So I guess it's no brain teaser as to why when I first saw the challenge picture, I first thought about what caused the #blacklivesmatter movement in the first place. Although, I wanted it to be somewhat like it's the black man holding the gun, yet the man in the story was white.
Then it hit me. What if the man was black in ways other than color. It did make me have to spend a lot of time writing and editing, trying to make Jude as black as possible hence, I missed the deadline 😅, but I am happy with the result. So that's it. 😊✨
