tagNon-EroticThe Unseen Truth

The Unseen Truth


This is a story about life. Not everyone's life, just the life of a few people growing up and having problems. It is not our responsibility to judge one on their skin tone but it is out there. This story deals about racism, a problem that plagues our country and many others. It is completely false, yet at the same time the most honest and true thing you might ever read. I am warning you this now. It is violent, it is gory, it might shock and offend you. But then again, I am not concerned. It is what I see and what happens while I am not looking. If you do not see it, you have blinded yourself to the world and truth. If you do not see it, stop reading now. This story will shock you if you are closed off to the world and if you are not careful you might become a victim of its content.

The rain ripped at his body as he ran. A crash of thunder boomed in the distance and a crack of lightning flew across the sky. He was being chased. Three dark shadowy figures had yelled at him and waved pistols at him. They were complete strangers, none of them even looked remotely familiar to him. He just ran, ran for his life, ran because he didn't know what was going on and he was scared half to death. This was the midwest. Who would believe that racism would affect the Bible Belt? He had no idea, he just ran from them. He knocked over some trashcans as he fell to the ground. He rolled and jumped up regaining his foreword movement. He had to keep running from the shadows. He didn't want to face what he would if they caught him. The thunder continued, getting closer and closer to him each crash. He stopped and turned around only too see the three figures right behind him. It was just then that it hit him, just like the bullet now shot into his heart. It wasn't thunder and lighting. It was the muzzle flash and explosion from the gun. He spun around violently gripping his now burning chest and fell into a mud puddle face first. His blood mixed with the dirt and water as he lay dying. The three shadows stepped into the light and sneered at him as they stepped on and over his dead body. "Dirty mick..." was one of the insults that was spat at the dying boy's crumpled form.

A pulsing noise flooded their senses as the band played. Their music was loud, fast, and heavy. The three thrashed and moshed with another hundred or so people. None of them knew exactly what they had done. All they knew was that they were proud of themselves and what they had done to that black man. They laughed and mocked the now dead man on the way to this concert. They didn't know repercussions for what they had just done. They also didn't expect them to see them do what they did. They didn't see the black man follow them to their concert. They didn't know what he had planned for them. The police didn't care, the mayor looked the other way, and the public wouldn't accept the simple fact that racism had touched their small town. This stranger was there for one simple thing. He wanted revenge. He had watched a total stranger being shot down like a mongrel. He didn't know the kid, but he wanted the killer's blood on his hands and he came to this concert to do it. He didn't have a plan, nor did he want or need one. The only reason for him being here is to exact his revenge and kill a murderer.

With the flick of a wrist, a switchblade jumped in a painted hand. With that simple movement of his hand, his life would change and the murderer's would end. He joined the mosh pit and started thrashing about, careful of the five-inch knife in his right hand. He made his way over to the shooter and looked him in eyes before slamming the switchblade in his stomach. He had stabbed him in the middle of the concert, in the middle of a very violent mosh pit. It was a pretty good cover up, a hundred or so people and one dead guy. The cause of death could be one of many things, crushed underfoot, exhaustion, just the violence of the pit was enough to send a few others to the hospital; none were as wounded as the shooter, his wounds were fatal. The shooter lay on the ground bleeding. No one cared about him. The music infiltrated all their minds, they were drawn to it like sheep. The sheep continued to dance, mosh, and thrash around the now dying body. The newest murderer smirked and stepped back to his friends. Screams of rage, hatred, and death were drowned out by the fury of the band. No one saw him die; they just found his body a few minutes later.

The lone assailant stepped out of the musky night club into the fresh air of the world. He breathed easier now that he was free of the cramped, smoke filled dance floor. He took a deep breath and looked at the knife in his hand. The switchblade was coated in the spilt blood of the first murderer. He was now a murderer too. He decided he had to forget about it, force himself to deny what he had done. He'd committed a crime but was it justifiable before a judge and jury? He couldn't take that chance. He took the knife apart and threw each of the pieces in separate directions. The blade in a lake and the handles in different garbage cans. He had successfully done what he had come there to do and now he had to live with it. It wasn't a crime against society; it was a crime for it. He had fought back for someone who couldn't fight for himself. He had won that fight and now he might pay for it. He knew someone would find him and he went into hiding, he never came out.

The shooter's funeral was held about a week later. The grass was still wet with dew. It was late morning but the sun had just come out. The birds chirped from their nests in the trees surrounding the cemetery. Why would someone make a cemetery look as nice as it did? To hide the stench permeating from below? To disguise the hatred of the people buried? To sweep away the vileness of their crimes? It all depended. The crowd gathered around an angry, young, now dead boy. No one knew the person in the casket was a victim, they all assumed it was an accident, a mosh pit got over crowded and it happened, he got stabbed. Nothing happened, the promoter of the concert and the owner of the club it was in were under investigation but nothing came up, they were both good businessmen with good records. The police asked them a few questions and left them alone. They didn't know who did it and they never would, his death would forever be a mystery. The body was lowered into the ground and everyone forgot about him. They moved on without him, without their son, without their brother, without their friend.

The same day, same cemetery, same problem. There was another funeral; they knew the body lying in the grave was a victim of racism. It was all over the news. Black Killed by KKK Zealots! screamed from headlines. Everyone was up in arms. Everyone wanted blood. Everyone needed their revenge. Too bad no one was going to get it. They already had killed him. His body was already in the ground. It didn't matter anymore. Who ever was going to take the blame would be innocent. They would never get the one who killed the black jogger. The gun would never be found. It would be solved, but they sent the wrong man to the chair. He would die. He was innocent. It didn't matter. The community had their revenge. They had their blood. They didn't care who it was. They had what they wanted, someone to point their fingers as he slumped past, someone to blame, someone to kill. They had their blood, they had him dead. They lowered the body, this time they didn't forget him. They kept their memories of him. They kept the knowledge that racism can affect the littlest town. They learned that everyone is a possible victim. "If it could happen to him, why not me?" they all wondered. They finally accepted it, this simple fact that it's everywhere. They finally accepted the belief that hate is in the world. Why did two people have to die for this town to learn what the big cities already know? Why did one innocent man have to die for the town to shock into reality? Why did one man have to take matters into his hands and have his guilt wrack his conscience? It's not fair! It wasn't their responsibility to show them the truth.

Is this the end of the story? I don't know. Is eye for an eye correct? I don't know that either. Then what is the answer? There is no simple answer to racism. You can't sweep it under a rug anymore. It's out there and it is a problem. This story took place in a small town. It's everywhere. I don't want to be the one to tell you this, but we cannot stop it unless we all try to stop it. One or two good deeds will not solve the problem in the long run. It just won't happen. Everyone everywhere need to want to solve this issue, or it won't be solved. It's impossible to judge a book by its cover and it's wrong to judge someone by the color of his or her skin. There is never a simple solution to a problem this large. Groups like the KKK get the blunt of the blame, but what about the Black Panthers? Are they innocent? Don't they share part of the blame? It cannot be blamed on one part of the problem. Just remember, it takes two people to fight. It takes two people to kill. It only takes one to apologize and attempt to fix things. If we all become that one person, we will solve this problem overnight. We can do it if we want it bad enough.

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byLadyRoscoe© 0 comments/ 5603 views/ 0 favorites

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