Hi, I'm Joanne. Lynda is my older sister. A horrible memory I'll never forget is Bloody Sunday. That day had to be the scariest day of my life. I'll never forget Lynda's bloody face and head. I remember I was held in a stranger's arms. I believe I was passed out. I woke up to Lynda assuming I was dead. Lynda and I ran to the nearest church we could find and some kind black folk helped clean Lynda up and brought her to a hospital. I was terrified. I hope I'll never have to experience anything like that again. The crowd of white people was very scary. They were beating us and yelling racial slurs. You could feel how much hatred they had in them. Do they not understand that we won't stop until we get what we want? Equality. Is that so hard to give? It's challenging to understand why people would want to hurt or even kill me just because I'm black. Just that fact kills me inside. It sickens me. People need to do better, be better. Embrace differences. Treat people like people. I shouldn't be the one to change who I am, or what I look like, or how I talk. Nobody does. Y'all just have to get used to us.Get used to people who aren't only like you. We need uniqueness. We need change. We need differences.
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It was a sunny day, I could feel the warmth hugging my skin. Today was not a warm day, sure it was sunny, but it did not feel warm. My friends and I were protesting, marching, whatever you want to call it. As expected we were taken to a jail, but it was different, farther, unexpected. No one in the group had been brought here before, it was all new, frightening, at least. We were put into the cell, crammed together like birds in a cage, a very... small... cage.
Pat was sick, in immense pain, well, more than usual. We called for help, they did nothing. We screamed, they did nothing. We cried, they did nothing. We were invisible, everything about us but our skin. The cell was getting hotter, dirtier, I could feel the grime on my clothes, my hair, my face. CRASH, a shard of something hit me in the face, It's sharp edge cut me on the cheek, it glittered in the corner of my eye as it fell. I could smell the blood on my face, I didn't care, I wiped it off and looked up. Lynda apologized profusely, I quickly eased the tension by giving an, it's ok. I looked beside Lynda, the window was broken, the pieces of glass shattered on the floor. "Pat needs a doctor!" Lynda yelled, the officer walked up to us, he hit his baton against the cell bars, like he was playing an instrument. The officer looked at us for a while, then he asked, "Who broke the window!" "I did officer" Lynda said in a whisper, trying to sound fearless "What is your name!" "Lynda Blackmon" "No, I'm Lynda Blackmon" a girl yelled, "I'm Lynda Blackmon!" another woman shouted. Pretty soon there were 10 Lynda Blackmons. He told us all to follow him, all except Pat. We were brought to a huge iron room, it was steaming. As soon as we walked in we could feel the sweat dripping off our faces, onto our shoes, my eyes began to shut, slowly, drifting into a hot sleep, our bodies hitting the scorching floor. It was not a warm day, we had been put in the hottest room, on a very hot day, and it wasn't a warm day, it could never be. Not when we are treated like this, like animals, like nothings. And nothings can't have warm days... |
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