12:06 pm, I woke up to the sounds of sirens and flashing lights that flickered nearby. I could hear the shrieking cries of his mama, “my baby, please no, not my baby”. 

News broke out that night, the eleven year old boy across the street was shot in the head by a man in blue. That boy happened to be my best friend. 

My mama wouldn’t let me leave the house that night. She cried and held me tight. “Never leaving you outta my sight”, she whispered under her breath. I could feel her tears falling on the top of my head. 

The whole block came out the next morning. Faces I’ve never seen a day in my life. People were holding flowers, crying, screaming to the man above for peace. I was young, but old enough to know people were hurting. My family was hurting, the whole hood was hurting. 

I later learned that Tommy was shot down by the man in blue down the block from his home. He was shooting hoops when they rolled around, his dark figure resembled that of a boy who was caught stealing from the mini mart down the block. Tommy ran from the men in blue, as fast as his skinny legs could take him. His mama found him a few feet from their front stoop. 

He knew they didn’t like our kind. 

He was right, they shot him down. 

Two in the head, one in the chest, and 4 down his legs. Even though Tommy wasn’t the boy from the mini mart he suffered the consequences. The real thief was a seventeen year old white boy who wore black clothes and a black mask.

The officer claimed “it was too dark”.

The whole hood fought that day. 

People brought signs that said “Black Lives Matter ” as they protested in front of the local precinct. Even the thugs came out, off their front stoops and in front of the real criminals. 

The media loved it, we created an uproar. 

“Protect our Black boys and girls” my mama yelled with the crowd. Our chanting brought national attention. 

Officer Joe was brought to court. 

I remember my mama was on the edge of her seat that day holding my hand so tight it changed colors. 

“We will sentence Officer Joe to 5 Months, Max”. 

That’s when it all started. The riots. The gun fire. We weren’t safe. They were out to get us, all of us, again.