Separate But Not Equal

Chapter XI

I breathe heavily, flicking my fingers against my thumb.

"I don't understand why we have to get hurt and risk our lives just to get treated half as well as them." I whine.

"Ivory, It's been like this since we were born, It's always going to be like this, they're always going to hate us."

"Yes, I understand, but why, Acacia? Why do they hate us? What did we do to make them hate us this much?"

People are in serious pain, and my patience is being tested greatly.

"Maybe they're scared the black is going to rub off on their Snow White skin or something." Scowls Nieve, finally deciding to join the conversation, with her unusual attitude.

I snort at her, "funny"

"Most of the white folk are like that." Nieve shrugs, indifferently.

"White folk."

Christopher.

***************

Christopher's house.

Where is Christopher's house?

I had overheard the narcissistic, younger teenage girls of Birmingham high, converse about his constant whereabouts.

'19th St N, Birmingham, Alabama' I revise, in my head.

No, no, no, where is it.

I'm lost.

No, I'm not, I can't be. Not again. Not here.

"A red door."

Red door.

Why would someone paint their door red.

None of the doors in my direct view are painted, all plain white, furnished, polished.

Not painted.

I feel almost delusional, dizzy as I shake, madly like a psychopath, searching for the house of the boy I should hate.

Completely.

White door after another white door, and it just never stops.

I should go.

I'm safer if I go.

I will see Christopher in AP physics, unless his promiscuous behaviour prevents me from doing so.

I make my way backwards, tiptoeing, fear flying in the air crowding me, the thought of someone catching me and threatening me for no apparent reason, terrifying me, feeling almost petrified.

Unlike I presumed, the streets aren't exactly empty at all.

The fact only hits me once a few flashing visions of living dead corpses pass my eyesight.

They don't even look twice at me, not even once.

Either the fact that I'm considered unacceptable in the society doesn't bother them, or they think that I am so inferior that I don't even deserve a second glance.