Kyrah Bishop

Cries of a Revolution

I thought the worst pain I would ever feel in life was giving birth to my baby boy. Nothing would every beat those months of back aches, nausea, swollen feet, plus more that would be too long to tell. I swore up and down I would never do it again. Contractions was the worst physical and mental pain I would ever feel. But I was wrong; I ain’t ever felt no shit like this before. My world paused when his heartbeat stopped against my chest. His blood mixed with mine created a vibrant ruby red against the lifeless grass that was once alive, just like him. My shaking hands caressed his pale, yet still cinnamon brown cheeks, and as I looked into his still open eyes I saw myself. He was dead, and I wanted to be dead with him. My breathing became heavy as I let it sink in that my baby boy was gone, and he wasn’t coming back. No amount of wishing could make his chest start moving up and down again. No amount of praying could make his sweet, angelic voice bounce off the walls of my ears anymore. I fell down onto my back still cradling my baby as I let out a blood curdling cry into the sinful sky. Although my cry got lost under the thousands of other screams that filled the night, I knew that it meant something. My cry was one of the many cries of the revolution that took the lives of many, my first born and almost my own.

My head bounced continuously off of the bus window as we drove over the the multiple pot holes of E. 14th Street. My heavy eyelids attempted over and over again to close for just a moment, but I refused to miss my stop. To distract myself I studied the multiple small businesses that lined the street and the several construction sites that the city had been working on for months. I always wondered what could they possibly be doing, since the road always looks exactly the same once they’d finish. I examined the happy white faces as they strolled down the sidewalk, while some on bikes and scooters. Their faces seemed calm and at peace, which was not like the weary, stressed, and sometimes expressionless faces I encounter at home. I do admit that I have become one of those faces, and it ain’t my fault. It ain’t my fault that I have to travel to San Leandro just to go to work, and then catch three buses back to Oakland just to get my baby and go back home. I don’t expect sympathy for my baby, because it ain’t nobody’s fault but mine. Because I’m only seventeen people automatically look at me and think I’m some nasty little black girl that can’t close her legs. I probably sit around and talk with nothing but slang and eat the government’s cheese. My baby daddy probably dead or locked up, and I dropped out of school so I don’t even have the amount of knowledge of a goldfish. However, they don’t know or care to know that after having my baby I got back on track and was able to pull some strings in order to graduate early. I now attend Chabot community college and work day and night just to put food on the table. I know for sure my living conditions and the position my people and I have been put in wasn’t asked for; it was more of the aftermath of imperialism, slavery, colonization, genocide and capitalism. It ain’t a coincidence that any person with two working eyes could immediately tell the difference when leaving San Leandro and entering Oakland after passing Durant Square. It seemed like they had built an imaginary, yet extremely visible border between the two. Flowers bloomed nicely on the one side where my job at Safeway was, while garbage, graffiti, and memorials of someone’s sons and daughters decorated the side where my son and I laid our heads at night. I’m not gonna sit here and bash my hometown and act like it’s a war zone, because the news reporters already get enough of that. But then again I’m not gonna sit here and act like I don’t count gunshots instead of sheep to go to sleep.

My daily thoughts were cut short when I saw the colorful graffiti buildings, one being Doug’s Tattoos, making me realize that I was now in Oakland. I began to quickly gather my belongings and slip my heavy timbs back onto my tired and sore feet. I removed my hoodie and fluffed out my fro making sure it still had volume. I tightened the strings around my neck from my red hoodie and dusted off my black ripped jeans. While turning to the bus window to check my reflection, I noticed I had left a grease mark from all of the coconut oil on my hair. I chuckled, and as I chuckled I felt my a little too dry lips rub against each other. With that being noted I swiftly took my beauty supply dollar lip gloss out of my purse, careful to not knock my coffin shaped long red nails against anything. As I put the sticky gloss onto my plump lips, I could see nasty grown men out the corner of my eye staring at me with no shame. I rolled my eyes and thanked God that my stop was here. After saying thank you to the driver and hopping off the bus, I began my short journey to go get my two year old son, Egypt, from daycare. The best thing about it is that the lady, Ms. Brown, that watched over him while I was gone was only a few doors down from home. She had watched me when I was child, and she had acted as a mother figure for me while my real mother was out there living her best life. The bad thing about it was Egypt didn’t really get to do normal kid things like play in the front yard, since we lived on 82nd and the street was always busy due to the EOYDC being at the end of the corner.

As I got closer to the tiny, yet neat yellow house, I noticed some of the older kids were sitting on the cracked porch. I scrunched up my face as I opened the broken down fence to enter. As I continued to walk up the pathway, I questioned, “What are y’all doing here? Ain’t y’all supposed to be in school?” It was only two o’clock, and I know for a fact Castlemont didn’t get out until three. I know Ms. Brown would never let them cut at her house, So I immediately became suspicious.

One of the boys on the porch jumped up from the swing and dramatically shouted, “The schools is closed sis! You ain’t hear by now, it’s all over twitter. Castlemont, Madison, Elmhurst, literally everything is closed. Ain’t send no type of email, letter, nothin.’ I left my key back at the house so I came over here to chill.”

I studied his face to see if he was messing with me. When I saw that his facial expression didn’t change, I became anxious. This didn’t sound good at all; I don’t know what the white man was up to, but it made me feel all types of weird. I replied, “Yo you deadass? Like no type of explanation or nothing?’ They just left without saying anything?” I truly wanted to know what was going on. It didn’t make any sense as to why the schools would just randomly close in the middle of the week.

“That’s what I said about my pops,” the goofy teenager replied with a snicker. His chest decorated with gold chains, one of them being a Jesus piece, bounced up and down as he chuckled at his own joke. His fresh twists danced across his forehead, covering his fresh acne. He wore a black tee, grey sweatpants, and all black vans. He was cute, but Egypt’s father, Angel, had all of my attention.

I laughed at his ignorant, yet relatable comment and walked past him to enter the house. As soon as I entered, the smell of crunchy fried chicken and Crystal hot sauce invaded my nostrils. Everytime I came to pick up Egypt, Ms.Brown was always cooking something. From fried chicken, tacos, collard greens,and sweet potato pie, she made it all. After going through the long hallway with walls decorated with family pictures, some even being of Egypt, I saw two little girls surrounding Egypt in the middle of the living room floor playing in his hair. No matter where I took him, people couldn’t resist playing in his thick 4a afro. I stood at the corner just admiring my baby until he noticed me. Almost pushing the little girls out of his way, he sprinted towards me and jumped into my arms. He covered my hot face in little kisses as he squeaked, “Mama where you been? You should’ve been here mama, there was a big ol’ green truck on our street today. There was soldiers and everything! Mama Brown said it was a military tank, it was so cool.”

My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach; this wasn’t good at all. What the hell was a tank doing in East Oakland? First the schools closing, and now this. Something was going on, but all I know is that I needed to get myself and my son home immediately. I asked, “Baby boy where’s Mama Brown?”

“She’s outside in the backyard working on her garden,” he answered with his eyes glued to Sesame Street on the old tv set.

I nodded my head and began to gather his things. I didn’t want to be rude and leave without saying anything, so I quickly ran to the patio door and yelled out, “Hey Mama Brown. I can’t stay to talk but I just wanted to say something before I left.”

She looked up at me with her red glasses hanging down the bridge of her button nose. Her light grey hair hung down her back in a messy ponytail. It complimented her dark brown skin very nicely, matching her grey sweater she decided to wear in the beginning of September. Her straight face soon was changed with a warm smile as she said, “Hey Malia, I understand baby. Too much crazy stuff been goin’ on around here, first dem babies came runnin’ to my house talkin’ about that the schools is closed down, and then Egypt saw them big tanks. I’m telling you baby, the Lord is coming real soon.”

I mentally rolled my eyes, but careful enough to not show my emotions. I always try to moonwalk out of the conversation when Mama Brown got to talking about the day Jesus is going to come down here and leave the sinners. I simply did not have time to hear another lecture, so I ended the conversation with a quick love you and goodbye. After, Egypt and I made our short journey home only a few doors down from Mama Browns. Two years ago when I had found out that I was pregnant, my mom kicked me out on the streets with all of my belongings. No lecture or anything, just threw me out with no guilt. I honestly believe she had been looking for a reason to kick me out without looking like the bad guy. She had always had it out for me, no matter how many good things I had accomplished. She was forever in a completion with me, always accusing me of trying to be the woman of the house. Funny thing is that every man she brought into the house was more interested in me than her, and I truly believe that is what built her anger towards me. She thought I would die in these streets, but Angel’s grandma, Mama Angie, was nice enough to take Angel and I in.

When we entered, we were greeted by Mama Angie shouting through the rooftops. When I got into the living room, I saw her pacing back and forth with her hands on her hips. Her headscarf was slipping from her head, but she didn’t care to fix it. With every step she took, her orange nightgown flowed. Angel watched her closely with a worried expression. I mouthed to him, “What happened?”

Before he could answer, she turned around and explained, “They playin’ with my money that’s what! You know what today is Malia? It’s the 3rd, and what do I get on the 3rd every month to feed y’all hungry mouths and mine? Food stamps, that’s what. But where they at, I called the office and they ain’t answer. I asked all my bingo girls and they said they ain’t get theirs either. But that’s not all, I checked the rent bill, and it’s over two thousand dollars. When do I ever pay more than eight hundred for rent y’all? So I went up to section 8, but they was closed! I don’t know what’s goin’ on, but the government need to get it together. Lord knows Macy’s don’t pay enough to be paying two thousand dollars and put food on the table at the same damn time.”

I shook my head and sighed. This had just confirmed all of my suspicions, and I know this wasn’t the end of it. The government was tryna mess us over in some type of way, and it wasn’t just people of color. Although they may try to spread this lie that the only people that receive assistance from the government are people of color, that is absolutely false. So if we didn’t get our money, I know poor white folks was heated as well. I sat Egypt down on the couch and Angel followed me into the kitchen to talk. As I sat down at the table, I checked Twitter to see if anything was trending about these recent shenanigans. As soon as I clicked on the app, my feed was filled with complaints similar to ours. But the main thing that stood out to me was that a lot of the tweets was from states across the country. As I continued to read the tweets filled with anger, Angel whispered, “Aye I don’t know what’s going on, but until we figure out what’s going on I want you to call out for a few days. Something's going on and I don’t want you or Egypt to be out of the house when it goes down. The government acting real grimey right now and I don’t trust it. Before you say anything, Mama Angie agreed. I love you Malia. You my woman and that’s my mini me in there, I’ll die for y’all on mamas.”

I studied his freckled face, and focused on his neatly trimmed beard. It sometimes was crazy to me on how someone as beautiful as him could love someone like me. I’ve received so many negative comments on my skin tone about how it was too dark or just plain ugly. Most of those comments came from black men and women, but mostly just the men. Although Angel was Latino, he made sure to remind me everyday that my dark skin was beautiful. His brown eyes were so hypnotizing that I didn’t even care to realize what he was asking me to do. It didn’t help that he had on my favorite outfit, which was just a plain white tee shirt and dickies. I know I was only seventeen, but I was more than positive that I loved that boy. Just like he said, I would die for him and Egypt. I couldn’t imagine a world without him or my son. It seemed so unreal. I nodded my head, got up from my seat and walked behind him to wrap my arms around his neck. I confessed, “I love you too Angel, you know you my man. I’m not gonna lie and act like this whole situation don’t got me nervous. When I was walking out of work I saw all of my coworkers coming out of the back pissed. They was all yelling about being let go. I don’t know why I wasn’t let go as well, but I have a feeling I’m next. But all I know is that you need to stay here with us. Egypt needs his superhero here with him, and so do I.”

“You know I got you. I ain’t going nowhere, I’m staying in tonight. I’ll order a pizza so Mama won’t have to worry about cooking anything. This food stamp stuff got her headscarf slipping off and shit,” he said as he chuckled.

I snorted as I released his neck from my arms. It don’t matter how serious the situation was, Angel always knew how to make me do my ugly laugh. I left out of the kitchen to let him order the pizza and went into the living room to sit on the couch with Egypt and Mama Angie. I noticed her eyes were extremely focused on the tv, and that caused me to do the same. Fox News was on, and the news reporter was standing in front of the Section 8 housing office. I wasn’t really paying attention to anything the lady was saying, but my head shot up at once I heard, “There will be no more Section 8, food stamps, or any form of government assistance.”

My head began to spin as I saw Mama Angie out of the corner of my eye shoot up from her seat causing her headscarf to completely fall off. She shouted, “The devil is a lie! I know she lyin,’ she got to be playing with us all.” As she continued on her rant, the screen went black causing her to quiet down. Her face along with mine scrunched up, and she grabbed the remote to see if the tv had turned off. When it didn’t turn back on, she called Angel to come and check the cable box. As soon as he entered, the tv turned back on. Instead of the news reporter, it was a plain looking white man sitting at a desk in an office. Angel sat right next to me, picking up Egypt to sit him on his lap.

It was silent in the room until the white man on the tv began to speak, “Good evening everyone, I know you all may be somewhat confused about the recent events that have taken place. As far as I’m concerned everyone across the country is seeing this, so let me not take up too much of your time. If you have been affected in any way by our recent adjustments to our society, then this message is for you. Listen closely, because this may be difficult to understand. Our country has made thousands of accomplishments, all the way from protecting our citizens from outside terrorists, to providing government assistance and free schooling for those in need. We have however noticed that the majority of the consumers are in fact minorities, and some even that identity as Caucasian. We want nothing but the best for our country, and it has always been a goal of ours to make America what it once was, which is great. A great America cannot happen if we do not limit the amount suffering. With our new plan, suffering will be foreign to the new American citizen. There will be no such thing as the “minority.” There will be only one American citizen. I am looking forward to enjoying the new and improved America. Thank you, I hope everyone has approved of this message.”

The Tv shut off again, and the only thing that could be heard was all of our hearts beating through our chests and the light snores from Egypt. Tears threatened to fall from my eyes, but I blinked them away. I turned towards Angel to see how he was reacting, and it was exactly how I did. We were all confused, scared, and fearful for what would happen next. What the hell did he mean by there will be no such thing as the minority?

My thoughts came to an end as I heard Angel’s deep, yet shaky voice. He ordered, “Y’all grab y’all things. We gon head over to my man Rico house for the night until-“

All of our heads turned to the window when we heard multiple gunshots coming from the outside. It wasn’t the usual shots we heard at night. It was something you would hear in the middle of a war. Following the gunshots came the rumbling sound of an engine, causing the pictures on the walls to fall and the glass table to shake. Egypt was startled out of his sleep, and now we all were scared as fuck. I ran to the window to see what was going on, and the sight was horrific enough to make the devil shiver. The cries of children, mothers, fathers, grandmothers and grandfathers filled the air. Soldiers marched up and down the street with rifles shooting into the air. Body after body fell onto the ground, and blood splattered the windows. At every house, soldiers dragged families out of the doors and shot bullets through their backs as they attempted to scramble down the stairs. My eyes stopped at one house specifically that was once the home to Mama Brown. She tried to regain her balance as they pushed her down the steps. She lifted her head frantically, and her eyes soon met mine. She did her famous heart warming smile, but before I could react, the heartless soldier sent several bullets flying through her back. Through all of the noise and chaos, I could somehow hear her now lifeless body hit the pavement. Apart of me wanted to fall out and cry, but the only thing that was on my mind was getting my baby, man, and Mama Angie out of here.

Angel dragged me by arm away from the window and pushed all of us to the back of the house. As he tried to give us orders, Egypt’s loud cries caused all of us to lose our minds. Angel looked terrified, yet stern as he gave me instructions. He demanded, “Don’t come from out of this room until I tell you to alright? Stay in here with Mama and keep my son safe. You already know where everything at so that ain’t a problem, but I swear if you open this door there will be one.”

The tears that once threatened to fall finally made their way onto my red cheeks. Snot covered my top lip as I wept like a toddler. I don’t know what it was that made me more sad. The fact that my people were literally being dragged out of their houses and murdered by our so called protectors, or the fact that Angel was putting his life on the line to keep us safe. After getting myself together, I was able to push out, “Don’t get hurt, I would lose my mind if anything happened to you. Don’t take too long okay? I love you Angel.”

Tears began to flow down his worried face, and I could feel his breathing getting heavier as the seconds flew by. He kissed me on my forehead and mumbled, “I love you too Malia.”

With that he rushed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. I grabbed a still crying Egypt and moved closer to Mama Angie as we waited and waited for Angel to return. It felt as if hours had gone by. To calm Egypt down, I sat him on the floor with all of his toys. I warned both of them that I was going to use the bathroom before I accidentally pissed on the bedroom floor. As I was washing my hands, I had heard the bedroom door open. The noise had finally let me breathe again, and I was just glad Angel had made it back to us safely. As I reached for the door handle, my heart stopped when I heard Egypt and Mama Angie’s screams fill the air. I rushed through the hallway to reach them, but my feet froze into the rug when I heard the ringing sound of shots bounce off the walls of the house. Their cries came to an immediate stop, and I covered my mouth before the screams that I wanted to let out so bad made an appearance. I don’t usually pray, but I prayed to God that my baby would still be breathing when I entered that room. Once I heard the front door slam, I dashed into the room, only to be stopped by the scene before me. Blood leaked from the head of Mama Angie, and her limp body covered Egypt. I dropped down to my knees to examine them both to see if they still had a pulse, but only Egypt did. Feeling his heartbeat sent a sense of hope throughout my soul. I slid his cold body from under Mama and slowly exited the room, careful to not cause any attention to the house. When I got to the living room, my legs became weak as I saw Angel sprawled out on the couch with enormous blood stains on his once crisp white tee. I wanted so bad to lay on the couch near him and cuddle his body one last time, but I knew that I was wasting precious time by keeping Egypt in this condition.

Feeling his breathing becoming slower against my chest, I quickly headed out the front door and waddled down the steps. I was determined to get my baby to the hospital, but my fast paced steps soon stopped when I felt his tight grip on my neck loosen. I collapsed on the grass, and tightened my grip around his waist so that I wouldn’t drop him. I looked at his still face, causing my body to begin to shake rapidly. I thought the worst pain I would ever feel in life was giving birth to my baby boy. Nothing would every beat those months of back aches, nausea, swollen feet, plus more that would be too long to tell. I swore up and down I would never do it again. Contractions was the worst physical and mental pain I would ever feel. But I was wrong; I ain’t ever felt no shit like this before. My world paused when his heartbeat stopped against my chest. His blood mixed with mine created a vibrant ruby red against the lifeless grass that was once alive, just like him. My shaking hands caressed his pale, yet still cinnamon brown cheeks, and as I looked into his still open eyes I saw myself. He was dead, and I wanted to be dead with him. My breathing became heavy as I let it sink in that my baby boy was gone, and he wasn’t coming back. No amount of wishing could make his chest start moving up and down again. No amount of praying could make his sweet, angelic voice bounce off the walls of my ears anymore. I fell down onto my back still cradling my baby as I let out a blood curdling cry into the sinful sky. Although my cry got lost under the thousands of other screams that filled the night, I knew that it meant something. My cry was one of the many cries of the revolution that took the lives of many, my first born, the love of my life and almost my own. Who would’ve known that the people I love the most would be victim to genocide.

Between Angels, Mama Angie and Egypt’s death, I had totally forgotten that I was in the middle of a war zone, literally. With every tear I shed, a bullet flew across my numb body. With the little bit of strength I had left, I crawled on my stomach up the stairs with Egypt still in my arms in front of me. Quickly scooting back into the house, I slowly closed the door, making sure to lock every lock there was. I laid my back on the door and observed the mess that was left back in the living room. Angel was right where I left him, only the puddle of blood underneath him had progressively gotten bigger. My bloody footsteps led to the room where Mama Angie was. If I didn’t leave this house immediately, I wasn’t gonna be alive much longer due to it becoming extremely hard for me to breathe. My dirt and blood covered hands gripped the walls around me to push myself onto my feet. I picked Egypt up and laid him near his father, then walked into the kitchen to figure out my next move.

My first instinct was to go on social media, since everything is always being discussed on there. As much as old folks loved to bash social media, it has been a lifesaver to many, and I was hoping it could save mine. After scrolling down my feed for a minute, I clicked on one of my close friends live to see she was at the local church. I could see basically the whole neighborhood behind her, some of them even being white people. Letting out a sigh of relief, I rushed into my bedroom to gather the basic necessities. After getting what was needed, I twisted my hair into four flat twist to keep it out of the way. If I was going to make it to the church alive, the last thing that was gonna help was me trying to sneak around with an Afro. Before I left, I made sure I did one last thing. I kissed both of my babies, took one last look at my forever home, and then headed out the door into the cold and deadly streets.

Peeping from behind the bush, I saw the church sitting across the street with all of the lights off. To anybody on the streets, it would seem as if it was closed. On the way here I contacted my friend, Lotus, and she told me to come in through the back. After checking my surroundings one last time, I dashed across towards the building, hopped the fence, and silently walked through the back doors of the church. After looking around at all of the injured women, men and children, I spotted Lotus on the floor playing dolls with a little girl. After noticing me, she immediately stood up and ran into my arms. She whispered, “Are you okay sis? You look like you’ve been through hell, where’s Angel and Egypt?”

My heart shattered once again when she mentioned their names. I would think if she saw that they both weren’t with me then she would automatically assume the worst, but she didn’t. I cleared my throat and then answered, “They killed them Lotus. Angel, Egypt, Mama Angie, Mama Brown, everybody. They wiped out my entire street. I barely made it out alive, but all I know is something needs to be done about this. I’ve been on Twitter and I saw a few tweets about the man coming out here in the next two days to see the progress. According to some charts, the military in Oakland has murdered more people than any other city in the entire country. He’s coming to have some sort of ceremony or whatever.”

Looking as if she was absorbing everything I was saying, Lotus nodded towards the other room, signaling me to follow her. When we entered the room, all eyes were on us. The room held men and women of all different ethnic backgrounds. Like me, they’re faces looked exhausted, dispirited, terrified and infuriated all at once. The first person to speak was a white male that looked to be about forty. He rubbed his neck and then said, “ My name is David, it’s a shame I have to meet you this way. We’re all shocked, but then still not surprised that we’re in this mess. The system has found another way to mess us over, it’s just too bad that it took this for poor white people to realize that the government doesn’t give a single fuck about us. On my way over here, I noticed one of those military trucks loading the trunks with little girls. I don’t know what they’re planning.”

The black woman sitting next to him jumped out of her seat and yelled, “I know what the hell they planning! They can’t brainwash us old ones, so they keeping the little ones. Colonization is what it is. They don’t want the little boys tho. They don’t need a full blooded black person running around they new, precious white America. Keep the body take the mind is what they say, and that’s exactly what they’re doing. Trying to start off a new race, just more white. Soon after there’ll be nothing but white people in the U.S.”

“But why not keep the poor white ones then if that’s the case Wanda? That don’t make no type of sense,” a black man sitting next to the woman questioned.

Everyone was silent, but I decided to speak. “Maybe it’s because they never saw poor whites as being equal to them,” I paused to look at everyone’s faces to make sure they were listening. Once I felt that they were, I continued, “I mean ever since European invasion they’ve always made it clear that there was a difference between colonists and people of color. It wasn’t until they became fearful of black and white unity that they created the slave codes and white privilege. That right there put poor white people one level higher than people of color. But even then, they still never cared about anybody out of that 10%. This system was built off of nothing but greed for money and power. Any threat to their power was a threat to human kind in their eyes. If we come together as one, demolish that invisible border they got between us, we can end this shit for real.”

Lotus questioned, “Like the Bacon Rebellion?”

I turned towards her with a smirk and nodded. I mumbled, “Yeah, but this time successful.”

The white man smiled, but then asked, “Well where do we begin?”

I rubbed my chin and tapped my still perfect nails against the table. After a long minute, I answered, “Well first of all, tell us where you saw that military truck with the little girls at. But most importantly, we need their weapons. Once we have that, everything that comes after that is easy. It’s still more of us than it is of them. We’ve never have been and still aren’t the minority. Everybody reach out to people you know that may still be alive. With all of us, they won’t see it coming.”

The next day we were able to track down the military truck with the little girls, plus another truck that carried weapons. We dressed David up in one of the guards uniform, so the other guards gave him the keys without even questioning him. When we opened up the truck, my eyes immediately watered as I shivered with disgust. The little girls faces were covered in terror, and their once adorable clothing was replaced with old rags. The trunk was freezing, and the air smelled of death, blood and old Chinese food. They weren’t given blankets, so they were forced to climb on each other to create body heat. Their ankles were chained to one another by thick black chains, and their arms were tied around their backs. Some of the little girls had even vomited, resulting in the backs of the others to be smeared with their old lunch. The scenery before me reminded me of the documents I had read about the middle passage and the living conditions kidnapped Africans were kept in on the way to the thirteen colonies. Revolutionaries weren’t lying when they said hxstory repeats itself. Once again, blacks were being stripped of their personhood. No one could sit and bring their lips together to say that Angel, Mama Angie, Mama Brown and Egypt were treated as human beings. No one could say these little girls were being treated with the smallest amount of respect. It was sickening to say the least.

When we arrived back at the church, we began to plan for the man’s ceremony at the Coliseum. With David and few of his white friends dressed as soldiers, it wouldn’t be that hard to get in. As a group, we decided that only the women should handle the problem. No offense to men, but women just know how to get shit done. Although it’s the soldiers job to kill anybody other than rich white people, we know for a fact they wouldn’t turn down an offer to spend some time with one of us. Men our disgusting, so this was easy as hell. Once we’re in, we’ll just spread out in the crowd, wait for the man to walk onto the stage, and pow. Him hitting the ground will result in the crowd to go wild, but they’ll be outnumbered since we’ll have the whole crew outside waiting in the trucks. Wanda and a few other people know some important people in other states like Florida, Texas, Georgia and New York that’ll stir something up in their area as well. It won’t be easy, but with the man out of sight, taking down the soldiers and these rich white folks with their weapons wouldn’t be a challenge. Now that we finally have poor white people on our side, power won’t be in their blood shedding hands for much longer.

The next morning, Wanda and I prepared ourselves mentally and physically for the ceremony. I used the wooden pick given to me by Angel to fluff out my Afro, and for good luck I slid it into my black thigh highs. From my choice of outfit and gigantic beauty supply hoops, you would think I was going out to First Fridays. Although I knew I was gonna get some blood on me, I still wanted to look good. I turned around to look at all of the beautiful women behind me, and they all had the same worried, yet calm facial expression I wore. I chuckled at the thought that although it took mass murder to get everyone to come together, it was still being done. We had a taste of the Black Panther Party, Brown Berets, I Wor Kuen, American Indian Movement, and the Young Patriots all in one room. With all of the chaos and murder that was happening around us, we managed to unite and revolt. If only my baby boy could be here to see what it’ll be like after.

Once everyone was finished, all of the women loaded the trucks, each grabbing a weapon. The rest of the church plus the other hideouts would meet us there once we gave them the signal. The ride on the way to the Coliseum was silent, but you could still hear the heavy breathing coming from each and every one of us. When the truck came to a stop, David’s voice could be heard from the front. The conversation between him and another soldier only lasted a few seconds before they let him through. Once parked, David spoke through the speaker, “I told the soldier we had some special guests for the other soldiers. Over the night I heard that they had kept some women that they thought were good looking enough to be put into sex trafficking. All y’all have to do is walk right through that door, entertain them with conversation, and then kill em’ off. Don’t stay in there too long, just kill them and head to the section where the ceremony is taking place. As soon as the man walks on the stage, send a shot right through his head. I’ll hear all of the commotion from outside, so I’ll signal the rest of gang. Good luck y’all.”

I took a deep breath and answered, “Alright, thanks David. We’ll make it quick.” With that we all climbed out of the truck and shuffled into the big black doors. As soon as I entered with Wanda right on my side and the others behind, all eyes were on us. My stomach churned in disgust at the sight of their faces. I immediately recognized one of them as being the soldier that sent several bullets through the back of Mama Brown. With a devious smirk, I waltzed over to him and whispered, “We came to be some type of entertainment for y’all. Just have your friends pick out which one of my special ladies you want and that’ll be it.” With every word I said, vomit threatened to spill from my mouth.

He gazed at me and licked his paper thin lips. “I’ll do that little lady, but you’re mine,” he said as he chuckled. He turned towards the other soldiers and yelled, “Okay fellas, pick which one stands out to you the most. They’re yours for the whole night, so let’s choose wisely. I already got mine.” After he said that last sentence, he roughly grabbed my waist and began to rub his dirty fingers through my fro. I wanted so bad to pop one on his side so bad, but I had to wait just a little bit longer. Once I saw that all of the girls had been paired with the soldiers, I noticed there was an even number. I smiled as I thought how easy this would be. I guess the soldier I was with had saw, because he asked, “What the hell you smiling for pretty lady? You excited as much as I am?”

I mentally rolled my eyes, turned towards him with a smile, gripped his face and questioned, “Do you recognize my face sir?” My soul was now on fire as I waited for him to answer.

He rubbed his chin, shook his head and then answered, “Not that I remember. I’m almost positive I would remember you.” His grip around my waist began to get tighter, and I knew I had to wrap it up.

“Well, I recognize you, sadly. Your face haunts me in my sleep now, and the sight of it almost made me puke my insides out,” I stated truthfully as I slowly slid the gun from inside my trench coat into my cold hands. I continued, “You murdered a woman that meant so much to me. She was like the mother I never had, and I want you to bleed out slowly for that.”

Before he could react, I sent multiple shots through his chest, which resulted in the rest of the girls to follow my lead. In a matter of seconds, all of the soldiers were sprawled out on the floor with rivers of blood flowing from their lifeless bodies. I texted David to notify him that phase one was a success. After silently celebrating, we fixed our clothing, wiped the blood off of our faces, and calmly walked out of the room into the area where the ceremony was being held. We all gave each other one last look before separating into different sections of the room. This was it; our lives depended on me. I volunteered to be the one to end the man, and now the time was finally here. I observed the many plain white faces in the room, and I was underwhelmed. I just don’t understand why they would want the new America to look only like this. Where’s the excitement in that? As I continued to stare in confusion, I heard someone tap the mic, which caused me to bring my focus to the front of the stage. A middle aged white woman began to speak into the mic. Her entire speech was a bore, so I lost interest quickly until she said, “Without further or due, I would like to bring out the man that made our dream America become a reality. Give a big round of applause for Bob Riley!”

With a smile and wave, he made his way to the podium. My heart began to jump with joy as I saw his face move closer to the mic. I didn’t care to hear what he had to say, but I at least wanted to let him get one word out. He cleared his throat, parted his lips and said, “Good evening new America. I am grateful to be here with you all today.”

As he continued his speech, I swiftly pulled my gun back from out of my trench coat, lifted it high enough to reach him, and let my finger push the trigger. Before he could begin his next sentence, multiple bullets flew through his body. Before the crowd could point me out, the other girls began to send shots throughout any body that wasn’t ours. Body after body hit the floor, causing a sensation of happiness to shoot through my body. Getting back into game mode, I joined them. I heard the doors open, which made us realize that David and the others had gotten the signal. To a normal person, the room would look like a slaughterhouse, or even hell. But to me, it looked like revenge, and it smelled like freedom. Leaving the rest of the work to the others, I made my way onto the stage and over to the the podium.

David noticed I had reached the podium and notified his partner to begin recording using the newscasts equipment. We were now live, and it was our time to shine. After letting out a deep sigh, I began to speak, “Good evening my fed up ladies, gentlemen, and those that do not identify with those titles. I am Malia Daniels, but I now wish to drop that last name. To those that have previously held institutional power, your leader is gone. To those that are in my position, your sufferings have been heard. Your cries have bounced off of the ears of many plus mine, your blood has been smelled throughout the night sky, and your bodies have filled up the once vibrant streets. My son’s heartbeat came to an end on my chest, and the love of my life bled out onto my living room carpet. His grandma died protecting my baby, and my somewhat mother was pushed out onto her lawn and murdered viciously by an animal dressed in camouflage. Death has came too soon for all of us. It tried to get me. It lingered around me day and night, but it failed. If you are listening to me right now, it failed in your case as well. Unity is what brought us here today. My poor white people, I’m glad you have awaken. Sad it took the death of your own to act as the final alarm, but at least you didn’t decide to press the snooze button on this one. With us acting and moving as one, we can accomplish so many great things. For example, look at what’s lying on the floor near me.”

I kicked the man’s back and returned my attention towards to camera. I continued, “It’ll be a long and deadly war that we’ll have to fight. I am willing to risk my life for the freedom that will come along with my blood being shed. We will create the new and improved America. We aren’t done yet in the Bay, and I’m sure y’all are fighting a war in the other states as well. But trust me, the justice we have been dying for in the past is right in front of us. We will reach it, but we need all hands in. Power is now in our hands, and we will handle it with care. The ones before us abused it, but we’ll be the ones to nurture it back to life. To those that once abused this power and may now suffer the consequences, don’t say you were never warned. In the words of the great Chief Powhatan, “Take away your guns and swords, the cause of all our jealousy, or you may all die in the same manner.”

With my final sentence, I slowly made my way down the stairs of the stage and exited the building, leaving the others inside. I was now aware that all targets were now on my back. Just stepping one foot outside was a challenge to that crazy thing called death, but I didn’t care. I was breathing for Egypt. I was breathing for Angel. I was breathing for Mama Angie. I was breathing for Mama Brown. I was breathing for every person of color that had lost their lives in the hands of the system. I looked into the sunny sky as tears slid down the sides of my face. It was now my duty to be the voice of my people. Their cries were now mine. Every tear that was shed, will go down as the many cries of the revolution.

Historical Context

The short, yet emotion filled story “Cries of a Revolution", is told from the point of view of a black, seventeen year old mother, Malia Daniels. Located in East Oakland California, Malia is very aware of the classist society and the new form of segregation. Although it isn’t as blunt as the Jim Crow era, poor working class people of color have been forced into a segregated area of crime, poverty, and violence. Constantly on the lookout and paranoid of the government’s next move, Malia lives the typical life of a black woman in the United States. The system, also known as the government, is portrayed by the fictional character created by people of color, which is “the white man.” Actually being given a name and a physical body, the white man creates genocide amongst all people of color and poor working whites in order to create a new and improved white America. After losing her closest loved ones to the war on the 90%, Malia leads a new and successful revolution against the white man and his puppets with all people of color and poor working whites on her side. Recreating the Bacon Rebellion of 1676, the work of speculative fiction acts as an example of unity and solidarity that could be possible amongst poor working class citizens. By including social justice related concepts such as revolution and resistance, the fictional yet powerful and relatable character could potentially spark the minds of the people that are stuck in the oppression phase through mental slavery.

My personal beliefs were spoken through the mouths and thoughts of the story’s characters, but mostly through Malia. In Malia’s grand finale speech and in many of her mental rants, Malia is thankful for the support of poor working class white people, however she acknowledges the fact that it is long overdue. Sadly, poor working class white people are viciously murdered by the hands of our protectors, but this has been the reality for people of color for three hundred plus years. Everyday, black men and women are gunned down and brutally beaten by killers with a badge. Innocent lives are taken away from our lovely troops in other countries, and then denied their right stated in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights to seek protection in the U.S. People of color are forced into horrific living conditions and underfunded communities, but then pushed out of their homes to make room for heartless whites with a few dollars. People of color let out cries for help every day, but are blatantly ignored by poor whites. Not only this, but working class whites have become so drunk off of their privilege gifted to them by the colonists, they have convinced themselves into truly believing that they have more in common with the 10%. This has resulted in them to view people of color as their enemy, and not the system. They’ve made up a world in their head where it is race against them and the system, and people of color are what’s wrong with America. Their ignorance has also shown in recent voting elections. In the article, “Chicago 1969: When Black Panthers Aligned with Confederate-Flag-Wielding, Working-Class Whites,” writer Colette Gaiter stated, “Some post-election analysis marveled at how the white working class could vote against its own interests by supporting a billionaire businessman who is likely to support policies that cut taxes for the rich and weaken the country’s social safety net” (Gaiter). This statement directly connects to the anger the main character, thousands of people of color, and myself have towards working class whites. Due to them being brainwashed by their own privilege, stereotypes, and institutionalized racism, they have chosen to believe that a billionaire with no care in the world besides remaining in power actually cares about their well being. The cries of people of color have acted as the alarm clock for poor working whites, and they have pressed the snooze button every single time. I believe it is never to late for solidarity, it is important that we speak on their privilege to ignore hundreds of years of oppression.

Although people of color including myself have more of a fearful and disgusted view towards the government itself, others feel much differently. In their eyes, the government has made some mistakes, however it is insulting and completely unfair to give the system a bad name based off of a couple of mistakes that are from the past. Writer Rex Nutting believes that the government has given us rights that have protected us as U.S. citizens. Just like others, he applauds the government for their accomplishments. In his article “The 10 Best Things Government has Done for Us,” Nutting stated, “Protecting our freedoms. Our political and economic rights are the foundation of our democracy and capitalist economy. Without them, we’d be nothing” (Nutting). Arguments as such refuses to listen to the cries of people of color, therefore removing years of oppression and hardships we have faced. Marginalized groups have been denied their rights in the U.S., and those with institutional power have somehow made it seem as if just because it is written, it is automatically given to everyone. Until we are given are so called rights, the U.S. constitution and other sets of laws will be seen as no more than documents created for those with power. These laws act as the de jure, while marginalized groups actually being denied of their rights act as the de facto. In addition, Nutting follows with another statement, “Our democratic government- along with you, me and our ancestors- created the conditions that have allowed private citizens and companies to build a great nation. This land was made by you and me”(Nutting). If he is describing the acts of colonization, imperialism, ethnocide and genocide, then the government has done a wonderful job. The system has made life easier easy for no one other than rich, heterosexual, Christian white men. This “great nation” Nutting speaks of is only the reality for those with institutional power, while people of color and poor working class white people are left to fight over 30% of what we work for.

Oppressed groups have been colonized so much into believing that there is no chance of solidarity. Sometimes even for myself, poor working whites working on the sides of the black community sometimes seem impossible. It’s shocking, yet inspiring to know that poor whites once viewed themselves equal to blacks. There was no racial tension between the two groups, and they teamed up on multiple occasions to overthrow the growing system. Fearful of their teamwork, the colonists developed slave codes and white privileged to create division amongst the two groups. Unity was a threat to their power, and it still is. In “Cries of a Revolution,” poor working whites and people of color leading a successful revolution provide a sense of hope for the future. Revolution is possible, but it is never successful without all hands in. Ultimately, after reading the powerful and engrossing speculative fiction short story, readers will leave with the message of solidarity being one of the main aspects of a successful revolution.

Works Cited

Nutting, Rex. “The 10 Best Things Government Has Done for Us.” MarketWatch, MarketWatch,

27 Sept. 2011,

www.marketwatch.com/story/the-10-best-things-government-has-done-for-us-2011-09-26.

Gaiter, Colette. “Chicago 1969: When Black Panthers Aligned with Confederate-Flag-Wielding, Working-Class Whites.” The Conversation, The Conversation, 20

Sept. 2018,

theconversation.com/chicago-1969-when-black-panthers-aligned-with-confederate-flag

wielding-working-class-whites-68961