Short and Sweet // Stories

Be True to Your Colors

I had to write a few creative short pieces for my English class so I decided to post them here as well. I hope you enjoy them. Please leave some criticism in the comments! :)

...

I was sixteen when I learned what discrimination tasted like. It was the dry, earthy taste of dirt and fresh cut grass that lingered in my mouth for months. It was the taste of blood after two teeth were aggressively knocked out of my mouth by the blunt force of a kick to the jaw. Regardless of that, hope and love was the sweet, honey-like taste of Savannah Parker's lips pressed gently against my own.

I was walking home from school since mama couldn't afford the bus let alone her own car. Unexpectedly, three tall white boys in my English class stepped foot in my path. I focused on my destination, which was the familiar comfort of my home, as they sluggishly approached me. They stood like solid brick walls, but moved with the swiftness and agility of a predator catching its prey. Their large, rough hands gripped easily around the circumference of my wrists as they yanked on my limbs. They were as vicious and heartless as wolves fighting over dinner.

The largest boy was the star quarterback of the high school football team. He was well-built and stood around six-feet, three-inches tall. He reeked of cheap cologne that was used to as a lazy attempt to mask the smell of his sweat. His skin was milky white and his jet black hair was greased back like all the other boys'. His eyes were an intense blue that almost had the same effect as Medusa's. It took him one try to shove me towards the cool cement slab and before I knew it, they started kicking me around like a soccer ball. It was then that I realized discrimination felt like the stinging pain of being ; the burning of heavy, wet tear drops as they course down the hills of your cheek bones; the feeling of being absolutely inferior to another man and a disgrace to the world your God put you in.

Suddenly, amidst the chaos that was laid before me, I could hear little Savannah Parker yelling at the top of her lungs. "Stop it! Stop it right now, you good-for-nothing idiots!" She screamed as her barefeet came racing toward the cluster of boys that towered over me. Her blonde hair was soaring in the wind and her pale legs carried her quickly down the path. I felt the sudden soft, gentle touch of her hands lay across my chest and under my head. The three boys gave me a nasty look and spit in my direction before stuffing their hands into the small pockets of their Levi's jeans. One said something that I couldn't hear and the rest began to cackle like hyenas. Meanwhile, I couldn't move a muscle so I laid in Savannah's arms, my breath shaky as I tried to regain it. I opened my one good eye only to see Savannah in tears.

She didn't need to say anything to show me how sorry she is for people of her color, but she continued to apologize. She kissed the top of my head, her lips lingering there for a second. Then she pressed her forehead against my own, silently sobbing as she rocked us back and forth. My quivering hand raised slowly to graze her chin in attempt to calm her nerves. She opened her eyes to stare at me, then cautiously closed the small distance between us. In that moment, our lips met in a short kiss. Savannah held me tighter after slowly pulling away from our kiss.

"Let's get you put back together," she said. She rose, looking like an angel as the evening sun set behind her, illuminating every feature of her petite frame. She helped me up then let my left arm sling over her shoulders as she guided me to her home. Mrs. Parker automatically raced towards us after we stepped foot through the door. Savannah began to explain everything as Mrs. Parker led me to the kitchen.

I slouched over the kitchen counter as my eyes followed Mrs. Parker as she dug through unorganized drawers and cupboards. She then sat down in the stool next to mine and wiped away the dried blood that stained the skin around my nose, mouth and neck. She told me to lift my shirt as she applied a variety of chilled vegetables to the bruised areas, commanding me to hold them there. Once she figured I was good enough to go home, Mrs. Parker and I followed suit.

"Savannah's going to walk you home, you hear? She's going to make sure your mama knows that you're fine. I'm going to have a word with those three McKinley boys," Mrs. Parker said. I gave her an understanding nod, but before I could take a step, she told me something I'll never forget:

"Be proud of the mature young black man you are, because I am."