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A Bit About B
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Plain and simple.
a boy went up to a girl
and the boy pointed at her and said
your skin is dark as night!
And the girl looked down at her arms
dark as could be
and she said
Is that such a bad thing?
Is it wrong
for my skin to resemble the midnight sky?
How can you
that it is wrong for Mother Night
to wrap her quilt around me
to make me invisible from hateful eyes?
How can you
that my skin is a bad thing when
there are constellations hidden
in the pores of my arms
galaxies nestled in my collarbones
a solar system orbiting beneath my knees
is this way
for if there was no darkness
we would never know when day were to come
grants me power
over the night
I am daughter of the moon
niece to the stars
and sister to the tides that rise under my command
from the same force that makes yours peel
it is night indeed
and it holds secrets
you could never hope to achieve
It’s about racism and masked vigilantes and a father/son relationship… basically ><
"There were plenty of middle-aged men wearing pants that were too tight and sporting fresh toupees that didn’t seem to match their sagging skin. They cradled the faded pool sticks in the corner of the bar like the shriveled members they might have been proud of decades before."
no I promise it is
"There’s nothing super about stopping some skinhead-wannabe-policemen from hurting people who don’t look like them, Charles. Nothing super at all. We may as well be vigilantes."
Seventh Sanctum/ Sanctum & ISP are vigilantes/ protagonists
"After years on the job, this phenomenon was so recent that neither fully knew when the right time was to move forward, or turn on the flashlights, begin communication, take the needle out of her grasp. They tip-toed forward, hoping that she would continue trying to light the metal plate. A sharp intake of breath. She held the syringe plunger in her mouth. Her teeth chattered against plastic; finally her patience ran out. Sanctum knew what might come next if they made any sudden movements. He covered his ears, hoping to block out the far away screaming of many fading ghosts that often filled his skull. ISP wrapped his arms around his body and gripped the dark blue material tight against his skin. The woman pulled the syringe to the top. She tightened the belt around her arm and shoved the needle in. The metal tip sighed with relief as it sank into the fold of the woman’s inner elbow, releasing heroin into her veins. She threw her head back in pleasure. Her bare toes curled, her dry heels scraped against the wooden floor. The Officer bit her bottom lip as if holding back an animalistic cry while Sanctum pulled his lips together, attempting to fight the bile rising in his throat.
She extracted the needle and tossed it aside. With her head still bent over the back of the chair, she opened her eyes. The moment she saw the two vigilantes, she screamed. They let her run, knowing she would collapse just a few yards ahead in a violent quaking. If everything went well, they wouldn’t have to clean up a mess of urine pooling beneath her. When they got to her, she was wide-eyed, trembling like a newborn pup. Her sentences were hardly complete. Fuck ya. All ya Vigints fuck ya. Your fault fuck dammit. ISP reached down to tie up her hands. The skin beneath her nails were blue. We’re not here to hurt you Officer, the Seventh Sanctum said. Don’t. Fuck. Your fault. Didn’t choose this. Ya Fuckin’. ISP lifted her into his arms and gently shushed her until she merely hissed each time her neck twitched. She must’ve been around forty years old. He covered her eyes to keep her sun-deprived body from collapsing of shock and placed her in the back seat of the car. Seventh Sanctum stayed behind to clean up the mess of used needles around the warehouse. A small cot was set up in the corner; it was covered in stains and crumpled dollar bills. His lungs contracted more often than it was expanding. All he could smell was blood. Bile. Urine. Blood. Screaming. White powder filling the cracks of dead wood flooring. Charles. Charles. It’s over. Charles, it’s over. Charles, get up. When did he fall to his knees?”
. In the beginning, when the Officers still held their nightsticks, when there was still a police force, everyone was angry. The only plan was to survive, or harm, or kill. To think was to bleed and to bleed was to lose and the vigilantes refused to be the losers for any longer.
Once the previous mayor banned artillery from the area, everyone had to learn to fend for themselves. Once the masks were pulled over their faces, the policemen pulled out the syringes. Once the policemen were removed from their positions, they became Officers and everyone else became doctors, diversion investigators, or vigilantes. But Michael had options and he chose to keep his eyes and ears closed from intrusions of gossip about his neighbors and peers.
"He fell to the ground, vision hazy, though he had been through worse. It took longer to get up than it had a few years back. The woman took advantage of the opportunity and smashed the pipe into his ribs. She delivered blow after blow, watching with a cold stare as Seventh Sanctum cried out, his face contorted, lips fishing for the air that kept getting knocked out of his lungs."