Harlem Death

My knuckles turned white as I gripped onto the steering wheel, remembering how they marched and chanted for freedom and “equal rights”, holding banners like they deserved to be placed on the same peddle stool as us white folk were on. I was beyond tempted to take down each and every one of them that walked passed me, all high and mighty, fists in the air and hope in their hearts. My fingers twitched on the trigger of my gun, but lucky for them my colleague stood beside me and reassured me there’ll be other times where we could get revenge, for now that was their moment.

It was bad enough and obvious that that nigger, Rev Brown, used black magic in order to win the vote to send his child to our schools, but now they demand for more? My blood still boils daily when I think about how a nigger has the opportunity to sit amongst my kind and learn the same information my children are learning. It’s an abomination. We all know their mentality isn’t strong enough to comprehend what the schools teach, that’s why they were under our control for so many years, because they needed our brains to help tell them how to function. But here there are now, ungrateful bastards, declaring for equal rights and the rights to vote, when did they feel they were the same as us?

I took a deep breath and controlled my anger, releasing my grip on the steering wheel. It was only a matter of time before God corrected this mistake that the devil obviously had committed and put America back into order. Because if God failed to return America to what it once was, we’d have to deal with more people like Malcolm X, who felt the need to speak for his people and demand for things like the rights to vote or equality, which he had no right in asking for. People like him would provide all of them with false hope that I didn’t have time or energy to shut down. I can already see it, all of them walking around like they own the streets, attempting to stand up against us because we haven’t taken the time to assert authority and fear over them.

Instead, now it’s my kids that come home with the same fear that they used to have in their eyes a few years ago. It’s my kids who look at me during dinner as though I failed doing my job as a father and as a police officer. It’s my duty to keep them safe and to keep those animals out of the public eye, but here I am, cruising through Harlem watching them chant for segregation to be abolished, walking into ‘only whites in’ entrances in order to prove a point.

Being in this part of town did nothing but fuel my anger, seeing them so frequently and not under the care of a white persons command, kept my frustrations at bay, so I decided that leaving would be the best. Not for myself, but for them, because the longer I stayed amongst them, the more tempted I felt to kill them all, to prove that they have no chance in succeeding in a society that is ruled by our kind. Just as I begun to leave Harlem, a boy rushes out in front of my car, causing me to slam on my breaks, jerking me hard against my chair. Instantly a sharp pain in my neck arose and I knew this anomaly of the world had given me a whiplash. I was already having a bad day and there stood a coloured boy watching me in awe as I rubbed the back of my neck as it ached in agony. Cursing quietly, I opened my door and rolled my neck back and forth, in attempt to ease the pain, whilst walking towards the boy.

 

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking!”

“Shut your damn mouth.” I rubbed my neck, making sure the pain wasn’t too severe then focused on the boy.

“I was in a rush to catch the bus, that I wasn’t focusing on the road, so I didn’t see you.”

“I said shut your mouth, I didn’t ask for a explanation. Where are you coming from nigger?” His face grew tight after hearing the word ‘nigger’, but he seemed smart enough not to react to it. He shifted from one leg to the other, never breaking eye contact with me.

“From school sir.”

“Oh you’re one of those ones. You think you can handle me right?”

“No sir.”

“Well you’re looking at me like you want to hit me?”

“That’s incorrect sir.”

“So you’re telling me I’m lying?” The coloured boy kept quiet and lowered his gaze to his shoes. This is what my duty was, to enforce fear into his kind, so that they knew their place in society.

“Sorry sir.”

“Where’s the evidence that you’ve just come from school?” The boy slowly reached in his pocket, making me draw for my weapon. I wasn’t going to take any chances, knowing how those people worked, they’ll act like they are going to co-operate and before you know it, your body is laying on the floor covered in blood. As soon as he saw my gun, he stopped moving and put his hands in the air.

“I didn’t tell you to stop, show me some identification that you came from school.”

“But sir, you’ve drawn your weapon.”

“I won’t tell you again nigger, show me some identification or I’ll be forced to take you to the precinct.”

The boy’s hand visibly shook as it moved closer to his back pocket, whilst my fingers twitched on the trigger of the gun. As soon as he’d grabbed something out of his pocket, I shouted in my radio, ‘I have a suspect reaching for a weapon.’ And the pulled the trigger. His body lifelessly dropped to the ground, whilst his registration card lay a few inches away from his body. I put my gun back in my holster and stood closer to the coloured body feeling no remorse, as his body lay limp on the ground, other than joy. I looked around, wondering whether anyone else had witnessed the scene, but there was no one around. I made sure I didn’t stand close enough so that my shoes were in his blood, but I couldn’t help but smile at the fact that I knew in my heart that, I had managed to get one less nigger off the streets. I felt as though I had done my duty, my kids were safe. My fellow white folks were safe. That was all I wanted for my kind, for them to be safe and have no fear that their lives were in danger – and as the thick crimson blood slowly began creeping towards the tip of my black leather boots I knew that as long as more blood was drawn, the world was going to be a better place.

 

 

 

 

Author’s Note:

 

As a young black female, I tend to see a lot of videos posted on my Facebook wall about how the world has become more abusive to a selective group. And for what reason? Because of the colour of their skin? Or their religion? I’m a Christian and one thing I believe in is freewill and it utterly disgusts me when I see people mistreated, verbally/physically abused and alienated by something that should not be a issue in the first place.
I’ve been trying for a while to write stories that reflected the hurt that I see when I watch these videos of people being shot for no reason, or for kids being bullied due to their religion and weirdly enough I find it difficult. Harlem Death was something I wrote a few months ago but didn’t post because I wasn’t too sure how people were going to take it. But I do hope that people see the irrationality from the narrator of this story and hopefully dislike him as much as I did as I was writing him up.

 

Thank you for reading!

 

Sarah E. Balogun

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