2 Chapter 2

If my eyes could kill, I know this bulky object of a man, would have dropped down on the floor lifeless by now. My eyes grew larger than they grew before as he hands her a paper and tells her.

"find a lawyer, or better still, let her get the punishment she deserves, for being black" I didn't know when my legs decided to give up on me, as my butt finds solace on the stair. Both their eyes turn toward me. Dean releasing a smirk, and my mom looking at me determined but sympathetic.

Dean looks back at my mom, and then slowly, like he was trying to taunt me, waves at me then blows a kiss to my mom. His pap like face looking more disgusting. That's a lie though. Dean is handsome, even with a scar on his face.

"I guess I will see you both more often from now on." He turns toward the door then adds. "in court" as he leaves he looks back at us, then with a glare stares hard at me. Then shuts the door. My mom hurries toward me the paper on her hand, and her eyes redder than they were before.

"I won't let him okay, remember what I said before, they won't take you away" she adds, unsurely as she kneels beside me and grabs my head, resting it on her bosom. My eyes seem to find solace in her legs, but my heart constricts in my chest. I couldn't seem to make out why, just a reason why. Why does it have to be that way? And why the hell does that guy across the street have to make it so hard for me by killing himself. I am black and so what? I am still human, as I think these thoughts, tears begin rushing down my cheeks, and I begin wiping them off angrily. My mom seems to notice the state I am in as she pecks me goodnight. But oh my heart went out to her, I could feel her pain, her heels click hard against the floor as I listen to her door get shut. How will she cope in that room all alone? she lost dad today, and is threatened by someone else concerning her only family. And We both know a case held in court involving a black is very unfavorable towards the black of course. My hand flies to my chest, as I think of the death of my father, his corpse had been taken to the morgue for an autopsy, and not too long ago a man "Dean" seemed to have an imprinted vision of me killing my dad. Tears begin to cloud my vision making it hard for me to see, I hastily begin rubbing my eyes attacking it in such a way that I begin to feel the sting.

"what did I ever do?" I ask myself. I cannot commit suicide, because despite the hate, I know I have people who love me, and I have a lot to live for, I know they'll be more blacks to be born, and I cannot wait for the time to come, when blacks begin to have the same rights as whites. But you know what's strange? They've been no record of a black child being born for four years now.

I put my handmade box of crayons, and pencils in my bag, as I let my hand linger on my china ware. "it's odd all I buy for you is the finest of wares, and I never see you use them" I smile as my dad's voice forces its way to my brain, a tear slip down my right cheek and I angrily begin to wipe at my cheeks as tears begin pouring down. why did he have to die? Even as early as five o'clock this morning, a lot of sympathizers have made their way to the house to sympathize and also criticize. "just what did I ever do wrong?" I ask myself as I sit down back on my bed, my hands on my head. "I have always been a loyal fan of my dad, I was in my studio for crying out loud!" I scream the last part out. And why would Laurel think that I even had anything to my father's death, when she stood in the crime scene before me. "I am so not looking forward to today" I say. I let my feeble legs carry me down the stairs where a lot of real and fake sympathizers are, I decide to walk away from them without a trace. But oh how can I, in a house full of light. darkness cannot walk through without any sort of recognition. So with my back rigid, I decide to still walk out the door, even when the whispers became heavy, and too hard to bear, as I hear words like "suspect" and darkness".

I go to the koura's school of arts. And I study fine arts. In the school of arts, we seem to have different tiers. The first set is the law students, then next we have the models, then the others. The law students all seem to have a certain air of confidence, an aura that seem to follow them anytime they march down the hall in their crisp white shirt, blue long woolen jackets, a matching trouser, a black tie and shoes. The president's son unconsciously leading them. Donald Russel was never one to talk, he always seems so reserved. Many at times I have caught his eyes and the way he looks at me with a hatred, that I couldn't phantom. At school, I won't lie by saying I am that very hidden person. As the only black in the country, I have a certain kind of fame attached to my name, freshmen always want to peep through the window, to see the famous girl with a disgusting skin color. Like I said I have gotten used to the, harsh words, and meaningless accusation. But right now, as I walk down the hallway, I don't feel so used to the words, as people quack me and call me a "psycho" a "murderer". I have no confidence, no boldness. In a bid to open my locker, a petit blue headed girl quacks me, making me fall down from the shock. One little fact about me though, I might be quiet, I might appear shy but once it comes to matters like this I can't seem to hold myself, as my dad always said. "coupled with your skin color, your sudden brazenness can land you somewhere I don't even want you to end up at" so with my feet landing firmly on the ground I stood my ground, and pushed her hard she fell. And did I feel sorry about that? No, certainly no. I might accept a whole lot of bully from behind, but not upfront. And she having the courage to walk up to me, means she really sees me as trash, before I shut my locker, I turn back and look at her, and just as I made a turn to walk back to where I am headed to I noticed the whole crowd that gathered around few minutes ago seem to have shut their mouth. My head makes contact with a very firm chest, making me slowly look up, and come face to face with a very uninterested looking Donald. Then he says. "it no longer a wonder to me as to why you've been deemed a suspect" he pauses, looking at me with disdain. "even if you didn't do it on your own, I think it might also be a case of aid and abet". I have nothing to say at this moment, this is when my self-control usually comes in. I know when to hold it in, and when to let out and I don't think even for one second that speaking back to the president's son is worth anything, so my mouth at this moment is shut, waiting for him to make a move. His ironed suit produces a beautiful fragrance as he bends a little lower to whisper in my ear. "be careful though. I might deny the honor of taking up your case" he whispers, then takes his leave, making the rest of the crowd depart in disappointment. Thank God I wasn't reprimanded for anything. "being called a murderer Is just enough". I say. For so long I have waited for my bestie to come back. As a model November my best friend travels around the country of Koura, and so she's been gone for more than two weeks. She is currently at "justice city" a state, yes our country made sure to name states according to some really legal words. We have the state of "actus reus" a place that was once filled with blacks, hence the name, as the term actus reus is associated with illegality and theft. "affidavit" associated with confirmation, this state houses the school for major athletes. and I am currently in the republic of Koura the major city, where the happenings happen. And then there is the state of "ante" a Latin word for before. It houses the school for sciences.my dad graduated from there. Every other school, major market and any other is in my state.

My legs began walking toward the hall of creativity. "the vice chancellor requires your presence miss Mendel" it would have been a thing of nonchalance if he was actually just a vice chancellor. But when you have the president of your country seeking for your presence it demands fear, and nervousness.