July Contest


By July 10, 2019 No Comments

“Swish!” “Thud!”, the sounds that governed the late evenings and the early mornings, announcing the death of one who committed no crime.
I had gone to sell oranges at the village market only to wake up here; with my limbs chained together, waiting in line to get a taste of the death blade.
Back in the village, we only heard these stories on papa’s radio. Mama said they were ‘hate crimes’. I never bothered with the meaning.
I wondered if they knew I’d become the news they’d hear at sundown. It was my turn now.
I woke up, sweating.


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