Call me stupid. Call me childish and over dramatic. I don't care anymore. I'm tired of this. I really am. I'm tired of the looks. I'm tired of being looked down on. I'm tired of never having the freedom to roam the world freely because I'm scared I'll be killed. Why us? For so long, I lived in a world where I was free to do whatsoever I pleased. I was happy. I was free to do what I wanted to. Then I saw the news. I saw people like myself being mistreated and killed. They didn't do anything wrong. Why are they killing them? Why won't they stop? I can see the blood, I can hear their cries, I can feel their agony, but why is this happening? I moved to America for a better life. They told me this was the place where dreams come true. I wanted to widen my horizon. I wanted to see for myself the things I saw on the news. I never knew I was going to experience this for myself. There's so much crying and pain here. I can here them screaming for help. I want to help them but I'm scared. I want to run away but my legs are frozen. I can't move. I can taste the metallic liquid running down my face. It hurts so badly. The pain is unbearable but I can't feel it. All I feel is fear. I'm scared. I'm scared of who I am. I'm scared of what they'll do to me if they find me. Why can't I move? Please...help me... I can hear the sirens in the distance and I feel relieved. We're safe. We'll be okay. I was stupid to think that. We would never be safe. The gunshots rang in the air again. I could hear people running and screaming in fear. I wanted to run with them but my legs...what's happening to me? I hear an explosion behind me and I'm knocked further down the street. I open my mouth to scream in pain but noting leaves my mouth. It's like I've gone mute. What's happening to me? How did I get here? Help me! I can hear the voices from afar. I hear them calling us freaks, monkeys, monsters...but I don't understand it. What have we done wrong? Was our existence so much of a burden to them? Why won't they leave us alone? Why won't they let me go? Why? I look to my side and see a little girl crying. She's covered in so much blood and I'm shocked she's still alive. I want to comfort her. I want to hold her but my body won't move. She turns her head to look at me and I grimace at the open wounds on her face. She coughs up blood and I feel like crying. ''Why did they do this to us?'' Her voice is so melodic and calming even as her body shuts down slowly. She doesn't sound like she's dying and I wish it was like that. ''I was going to get some ice-cream for Bessy and they shot me. I didn't do anything wrong. Why did they shoot me?'' I want to tell her she'll be okay but I knew it would be a lie. She didn't deserve this. No one did. ''I was going to sail the world with Bessy. We were going to rescue all the black people and start our country for them.'' She winced in pain when she tried to laugh. ''I guess I'll be leaving all that to Bessy now.'' She searched my eyes before forcing a smile. ''You don't look so bad. You'll be fine. As for me, I don't think I can hold on any longer.'' ''No...'' It came out as a hoarse whisper burning my throat like I had just swallowed acid. I coughed out blood and saw her grimace as she watched me with pity. ''Don't force yourself to talk. It'll hurt you.'' She diverted her eyes from me to the sky. ?old with my husband and five children and three dogs. We'd all live in a huge house by the beach.'' I could see the salty tears running down her face and mixing with her blood. ''I shouldn't have had such high hopes for a better future. It was stupid of me. I should've known. It's simply not possible for someone like me. As long as I'm black, my future will never be happy.'' I wanted to beg her to hold on. I couldn't just let her die but I was too weak to do anything. I think I might be paralyzed. Oh God no. ''Thank you for listening to me. I should go now. Tell Bessy I love her and that she should carry on without me. I'll be watching her now. I'm so...tired...'' Her body went completely still beside me. Her eyes were still open staring up at the sky. She was gone now and even though I hardly knew her, I cried. I cried because I was sick of life. I cried because I hated being who I was. I cried because I hadn't been the one to die. I hate being black. I don't want to be like this anymore. I woke up with a start panting heavily with sweat running down my face. I looked at my brown hands which had been clutching the sheets tightly. I used them to touch my face and felt the tears. Even though it was all a dream, it still didn't change my perception of who I was and the ill fate my kind had been stricken with. I really do hate being black.