Bang! Bang! Bang! The sounds echoed throughout the neighborhood and they were all too familiar. Shell casings create their own jingle as they pogo-stick off the sidewalk. Heat visibly lingers at the end of the pistol with a shaky yet all-too-confident finger on the trigger. The boys in blue stand over my body, looking down on me like they always have. Looking at me, realizing that I was just like the rest of the boys they have used and abused. But I could tell they weren’t phased; it was just another day in the office. Their coworkers in the cubicle down the hall in New York or Dayton or Ferguson were doing the same line of work. Murdering unarmed black men from 9 to 5 Monday through Friday.

Breathing is getting harder, my heart rate is slowing. I can feel my life slipping away from me, following my bloodline down the street. A bloodline that has always been fighting for the right to breathe. The unalienable rights that are given to all citizens of this country are slowly floating away from me and my people. Rights that we have fought for ever since our creation. A fight we are still fighting.

My vision is blurring, there is a fog rolling over my eyes. I can still see the senseless cops loitering around my body. Waiting on reinforcements. But reinforcements for what? A black teen who is lying with three bullets in his side. I have no weapon but I’m sure they left that detail out when they screamed for backup. As soon as they saw me walking down the sidewalk, minding my own business, the fear entered their minds and bodies. The unarmed black man is the most dangerous threat out there these days. It must be, why should I think anything else? We are the most preyed upon, the most discriminated, the most segregated. Always being on the wrong side of the ticket, the jail sentence, the beatings, the taser or the gun.

They don’t even know who I am. I can feel their stereotypical judgement passing over my soon to be corpse. That judgement maybe based off my neighborhood, my family, my look or the way I carry myself. Their views are clearly being shown. They are being taped and projected on a national stage. I wonder how the rest of America is going to judge this? Will I be lucky enough to be an honored black life or will I be put down by the media? Will I be belittled because of my past, my ups and downs, my mistakes? Will I be scrutinized for walking alone late at night? All these questions will have answers, answers I will never hear. They will be heard by my mother, my grandmother, my sisters, and my brother. Answers they should never have to hear.

I can hear the sirens approaching swiftly, quickly getting louder. I can feel the vibrations of the vehicle creeping closer to my body. I hear the doors swing open and a woman scream “what happened?” as she rushes over to my injured life. Little did she know within all of this commotion I was wondering the same thing. How crazy, a white, middle-aged woman and a low-income, black teen having the same thought. I could tell she didn’t see the color of my skin, she didn’t see my look, and she didn’t see the neighborhood I came from. She saw a victim of a heinous crime. Her eyes were shouting compassion and her actions followed along.

The likelihood of me being saved was about the same as those two police officers are of being charged for murder. I can’t be saved and that is okay. But my brother can be, the boy across the street can be, the young black adults in this country can be. There is a group of poachers out here and they are trying to end a population. A group of young, energized and vibrant kids who want to do better. Better for themselves and their families. Let them live, let them break the status quo. I am okay with with giving my life for those kids. I hope I am not giving my life for history to repeat itself. I hope change comes from my death. I saw myself getting out the hood, landing myself a well respected job, and providing for the ones who cannot provide for themselves. I did not expect my life to end by the ones who are suppose to protect us.

I didn’t expect any of this but I guess I was the only one. People will shrug this off just like they shrugged off Eric Garner, Tamir Rice and Michael Brown Jr. People keep shrugging off the most blatant crime of our history. Racism is alive and well. I’ve been a victim of it like a majority of minorities. Being put down and pushed a side on a consistent basis because of the color of my skin. It’s just a color. Your iPhone has a color, your car has a color, and your shoes have a color but that aspect doesn’t make those products what they are. Just like the color of my skin doesn’t make me who I am. I am an individual, just like every other human being. I think that’s the problem. We sometimes forget that at the end of the day no matter where you end we are all still human beings. Hopefully there comes a day where we remember that we are all just humans trying to find our own place in history. I think I’ve found mine.