• It starts with a whisper, a dream.

    It's June 6th.
    The second day of my March Against Fear.
    I will march 220 miles,
    Under the white, hot sun,
    To prove a black man can walk free in the South.

    A voice captures my dream,
    Holding it hostage.
    Norvell screams,
    "I just want James Meredith!"
    Will I die here?
    A black shotgun cries out.
    Photographers and spectators scream, flee, panic.

    A striking pain,
    In my head, neck, back, legs.
    Stops my dream from escaping.
    Blood gushes,
    Everywhere.
    Over my upside down "never" button.
    Over my black gown.
    I taste it, smell it, bathe in it.
    Black seeps into my vision like the plague.

    My best was never enough,
    They saw me, they judged me,
    Hating, threatening, lying to me.
    Why do I care?
    I shouldn't.

    These memories flow,
    As 4 white bullets tear through my flesh,
    I falter, stagger, struggling to stay up.
    Time stands still,
    As I drag myself away from the threat,
    Sinking to the hot black asphalt,
    Too weak to crawl further.

    They don't care,
    They just watch,
    Squinting through the white light of the sun,
    Relishing in my pain.
    I don't deserve this,
    Nobody does.

    They savor my suffering,
    They isolate me,
    They judge me,
    They degrade me.

    They do nothing,
    They see me lying,
    Writhing on the black ground,
    In my own blood,
    Screaming, "Isn't anyone going to help me?"
    They stare.
    They whisper "too bad"
    Wanting me to give up.

    But I will never give up,
    Fighting for my rights,
    I'll stand up again,
    And continue the march.
    Hoping for someone to join me,
    As my whisper turns to a scream.