Wild, Beautiful, and Free

by Sophfronia Scott

I was old enough to know that being angry wasn’t easy.

The world just shrank, and it was me and him, and then, slowly, there was only me. The further his spirit sped away, the more the world recrystallized and I was in it again. But I was aware of what was missing, of a soul departed, and of the space left in the veil where his soul had gone through.

“I wouldn’t want to think like white people do. If being lighter means I might see myself as better than someone else, I don’t want no part of that.”

Seemed like humans were killing humans so that humans could have the right to be humans. I drank my coffee.