by Aadil H.
In the smallest quadrant of Washington, DC, a house had erupted in happiness. Marcus Foster, a boy of seventeen years, had been accepted into the University of Tennessee, the school he had hoped to be attending the following year. Already, cars owned by friends and family were parking on the side of the street to rejoice with him. Yet there was only one person Marcus strongly desired to tell. His cousin, Ray, had been there for him as long as he could remember. The pair shared a countless number of valuable memories with each other. So when Ray walked through the threshold of the Foster residence, they embraced. By that time, everyone who had come to celebrate was packed in the living room. That was when Ray gave his own great news, too. “To my great friends and beloved relatives,” he began, “I will miss you all next year as I head to Tennessee with Marcus.” For a split second, the loudest quiet filled the air, and Marcus was sure he could hear a pin drop. Mouths were dropping open, too speechless to speak, and shocked faces were signs that clearly people were refusing to believe it. The wind could be heard outside, whispering peacefully. The loudest cheer of the night followed, as Ray and Marcus were hailed by everyone. Ecstasy was everywhere, except for on the faces of Mr. and Mrs. Foster and Mr. and Mrs. Wilson.
After hours of fun and celebration, the guests left at about 2 AM. Now everyone remaining was Marcus and his parents, along with the Wilsons.
“So,” said Mr. Foster, “we’ll miss you both. We all wanted to ask you, however, why you chose Tennessee when you could have attended Howard and still be near us, since that was the path we were expecting you to take.” Marcus could not keep it a secret from his parents anymore. He was sure they knew anyway, but he could not hide his passion from them forever.
“We’re protesters,” he started to explain, “and that’s why we chose Tennessee. I’m sorry, but I want the world to be a better place for my children and their children. This can’t go on. We’re treated as though we are an invasive species to Earth.”
“Absolutely not!” replied Mrs. Wilson. “I refuse to let either of you go to Tennessee if protesting is what you’re interested in! Ray, do you not remember what happened to your older brother, Benjamin? He died trying to fight for our rights, and that cannot happen to you!”
“But that’s what inspired us,” Ray replied. “Ben’s death gave us the courage and the desire for our people to drink from the same water fountain, eat at the same restaurants, and attend the same schools all over the country!”
“Please go to Howard,” pleaded Mr. Foster. “There are enough protesters, which makes it unnecessary for either of you to participate in these actions. And if you get killed, you won’t make a change of heart for anyone. Already enough people have died!”
Marcus was about to reply with more reasons about why he should be allowed to attend Tennessee, when he noticed a spider on Mrs. Foster’s shoulder. His mother’s eyes saw his, and she turned her head to see what he was staring at. She let out a shriek as she brushed the spider off with her hand, and crushed it with a sneaker. “What a filthy creature,” she said. “I never want a spider near me!”
“Mom,” Marcus responded, “did you really feel the need to kill such a harmless spider? Sure, it’s a spider, but they spin webs and get rid of insects that I know you hate even more. My friend Karim was telling me that they’re even a well-respected species in Islam.” With the sudden change of topic and the awareness of fatigue starting to kick in, no one had the energy to argue about Marcus and Ray attending Tennessee. The night ended with both pairs of parents relenting, and they allowed their sons to attend Tennessee.
It was a long ride to the school, as the pair had expected. Four times they were given dirty looks from other passengers and received quite a bit of ill-wishing comments and gestures. After hours of sitting in the back of a cramped bus, Marcus and Ray arrived at their dorm. They slept for almost half a day and went down to breakfast. As if someone had known why they came to the school in the first place, Ray spotted a sign saying “First sit-in, 9:00, tonight!”
“Marcus, this is our chance! We’ve only been here less than a day and we can protest already!”
“It’s going to work, Ray, I’m sure of this.”
There were a dozen protesters at the lunch counter when they arrived. The cousins took their place next to the party. It was strange to see a bunch of people sitting there and not asking for food but instead waiting patiently and refusing to give up their seats and return home. The restaurant owner seemed to be quite irritated by this and was yelling for all of the African Americans to get out, for they were not allowed. Other customers were dumping their food on the group, but the protesters didn’t seem to be paying them any attention. Customers sitting in the back of the restaurant were yelling extremely offensive words across the room that Marcus would not dare to use at home. Marcus sensed a regular customer dumping his leftover pizza on the man sitting beside him, trying to provoke a fight against anyone who challenged the authority of White Americans. The unfortunate man purposely fell off his chair and curled into a ball to avoid the punches that followed. All of this angered Marcus and Ray, but they knew there was no hope in fighting back, and they had to stay put in order for their protest to have any effect. Marcus looked up and saw an angry woman holding up a large pot of hot coffee over him, and braced himself for the burning that was soon to come…
The journey back to the university was very long, with rain pouring and and exhaustiveness spreading across the group. Ray felt a bit of relief from the rain cooling his burns down slightly, but also a bit nervous due to the dark and deserted street they were walking in. He was about to ask what the time was when Ray grabbed his shoulder and he heard a woman next to him give a blood curdling scream, making the hair on the back of his neck stick up and sweat pour down his face. “It’s them!” she yelled. “We have to make a run for it!” Marcus looked wildly around for the source that had caused so much fear in the woman’s eyes, and after taking a look over his shoulder, he felt his heart stop and goosebumps rise all over his body.
Seven tall men, all dressed in white robes, were standing fifty feet away from them. They were all wearing hoods, pointed at the top, with holes cut in the masks so their eyes could see.
“It’s the Ku Klux Klan,” whispered a paralyzed Ray. “They’re going to kill us.”
For years, these White supremacists had haunted the dreams of Marcus and Ray. The night Ben was killed, Marcus went to sleep after hours of mourning, with the mental picture of these men killing his beloved cousin. He dreamt that he was Ben, fighting for his people, when suddenly they had appeared, ready to murder anyone. There was no way to make a run for it; his feet were stuck to the floor. He was positive that everyone within a mile of him could hear his heart beating, and he was gasping for air as he took his final breaths. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but through the hood of one of the vile men, he thought he saw a wicked smile, and heard a terrifying laugh that he would never forget, when suddenly everything went blank as he heard a gun fire.
Marcus wasn’t sure what happened after that, and suddenly he was back to the present; there was chaos everywhere. He grabbed onto Ray to make sure that they did not get separated from each other. “Stay close,” ordered Ray. “We have to get out alive.” The pair sprinted along with the protesting group. He could hear guns being fired and he sensed a couple of bodies already falling to the ground behind him, motionless and martyred. They ran, as quickly as jackrabbits, away from the the Klan.
“Kill all of them!” yelled one of the hooded men.
“Get back here, you two!” yelled another at Marcus and Ray. He began to pursue them as if his mission were to kill specifically these two. The man was catching up and a moment later, Marcus heard his gun fire right at them. Ray let out a scream that gave Marcus pain just by hearing it.
“Ray! We have to get out of here! You need to get up, let’s go!” Ray’s hand was getting cold, and he was losing blood fast from where the bullet had hit the back of his chest.
“Marcus,” he began in a weary voice, “it’s over. You know I’m about to die. Save yourself from them and leave my body here. Keep fighting for our cause...”
“Hey, get in the car!” yelled a concerned and friendly looking man driving a Ford. He grabbed Ray and half-carried half-dragged him into the car. The man who had just shot Ray swore loudly after the car took off.
“Lucky he found us, Ray. Otherwise we both would be dead!” said a relieved Marcus. “Ray?” he asked, turning in his cousin’s direction. Marcus wished he hadn’t turned, for that image would haunt him for years to come. Ray’s eyes had gone blank and blood was still pouring over a now completely red seat. “Oh my God,” whispered a heartbroken Marcus. “He’s gone.” The car drove into the university and after dropping off Ray’s body, Marcus went to his dorm, alone, with depression feasting on his soul.
Disbelief and an extreme sensation of heartbreak drove itself in front of tears and mourning when the pair’s parents were first informed of Ray’s tragic death. Marcus had stayed shut in his room upon returning home for a few days. He knew he couldn’t keep sulking about the loss of his cousin and that life would go on, no matter how tough it would be to keep fighting, both this emotional battle and the one for equal rights. “Marcus, we’re going to keep you here until you realize that you just can’t go to Tennessee anymore,” said a deflated Mrs. Foster one morning. “It’s just too dangerous. What motivates you to protest now?”
“I know what’s motivating me,” replied a misty-eyed Mr. Wilson. “The loss of both of my sons has given me sadness, yet I have gained a large amount of pride knowing that they both were killed doing something they loved and making the world a better place for themselves and us. I am very grateful to be able to call them my children.”
“Let our protesting be a tribute to Benjamin and Ray,” said Mr. Foster, “our heroes.”
“You can’t be serious,” replied Mrs. Foster. “After all of this, do you think anyone has experienced a change of heart?”
“We will have to be brave and very confident,” Mrs. Wilson said gently. “Marcus will carry on. He and his fellow protesters will gradually bring freedom. I know it.”
Mrs. Foster hesitated for a moment, then nodded. She hugged Marcus and looked him in the eye. “Let the memory of your cousins stay fresh in your mind forever. Now go to your room and start packing. We’ll be leaving for Tennessee soon.”
Marcus went upstairs, but didn’t pay any attention to what he had to pack. That could wait until later. He lay on his bed for the rest of the day remembering what his mother had said about not making a change in anyone’s heart. “Well,” he said to himself, “already, I have convinced four people that I’m doing the right thing.” He knew he would succeed now, he could just feel it. He was on the way.
“So,” said Mr. Foster, “we’ll miss you both. We all wanted to ask you, however, why you chose Tennessee when you could have attended Howard and still be near us, since that was the path we were expecting you to take.” Marcus could not keep it a secret from his parents anymore. He was sure they knew anyway, but he could not hide his passion from them forever.
“We’re protesters,” he started to explain, “and that’s why we chose Tennessee. I’m sorry, but I want the world to be a better place for my children and their children. This can’t go on. We’re treated as though we are an invasive species to Earth.”
“Absolutely not!” replied Mrs. Wilson. “I refuse to let either of you go to Tennessee if protesting is what you’re interested in! Ray, do you not remember what happened to your older brother, Benjamin? He died trying to fight for our rights, and that cannot happen to you!”
“But that’s what inspired us,” Ray replied. “Ben’s death gave us the courage and the desire for our people to drink from the same water fountain, eat at the same restaurants, and attend the same schools all over the country!”
“Please go to Howard,” pleaded Mr. Foster. “There are enough protesters, which makes it unnecessary for either of you to participate in these actions. And if you get killed, you won’t make a change of heart for anyone. Already enough people have died!”
Marcus was about to reply with more reasons about why he should be allowed to attend Tennessee, when he noticed a spider on Mrs. Foster’s shoulder. His mother’s eyes saw his, and she turned her head to see what he was staring at. She let out a shriek as she brushed the spider off with her hand, and crushed it with a sneaker. “What a filthy creature,” she said. “I never want a spider near me!”
“Mom,” Marcus responded, “did you really feel the need to kill such a harmless spider? Sure, it’s a spider, but they spin webs and get rid of insects that I know you hate even more. My friend Karim was telling me that they’re even a well-respected species in Islam.” With the sudden change of topic and the awareness of fatigue starting to kick in, no one had the energy to argue about Marcus and Ray attending Tennessee. The night ended with both pairs of parents relenting, and they allowed their sons to attend Tennessee.
It was a long ride to the school, as the pair had expected. Four times they were given dirty looks from other passengers and received quite a bit of ill-wishing comments and gestures. After hours of sitting in the back of a cramped bus, Marcus and Ray arrived at their dorm. They slept for almost half a day and went down to breakfast. As if someone had known why they came to the school in the first place, Ray spotted a sign saying “First sit-in, 9:00, tonight!”
“Marcus, this is our chance! We’ve only been here less than a day and we can protest already!”
“It’s going to work, Ray, I’m sure of this.”
There were a dozen protesters at the lunch counter when they arrived. The cousins took their place next to the party. It was strange to see a bunch of people sitting there and not asking for food but instead waiting patiently and refusing to give up their seats and return home. The restaurant owner seemed to be quite irritated by this and was yelling for all of the African Americans to get out, for they were not allowed. Other customers were dumping their food on the group, but the protesters didn’t seem to be paying them any attention. Customers sitting in the back of the restaurant were yelling extremely offensive words across the room that Marcus would not dare to use at home. Marcus sensed a regular customer dumping his leftover pizza on the man sitting beside him, trying to provoke a fight against anyone who challenged the authority of White Americans. The unfortunate man purposely fell off his chair and curled into a ball to avoid the punches that followed. All of this angered Marcus and Ray, but they knew there was no hope in fighting back, and they had to stay put in order for their protest to have any effect. Marcus looked up and saw an angry woman holding up a large pot of hot coffee over him, and braced himself for the burning that was soon to come…
The journey back to the university was very long, with rain pouring and and exhaustiveness spreading across the group. Ray felt a bit of relief from the rain cooling his burns down slightly, but also a bit nervous due to the dark and deserted street they were walking in. He was about to ask what the time was when Ray grabbed his shoulder and he heard a woman next to him give a blood curdling scream, making the hair on the back of his neck stick up and sweat pour down his face. “It’s them!” she yelled. “We have to make a run for it!” Marcus looked wildly around for the source that had caused so much fear in the woman’s eyes, and after taking a look over his shoulder, he felt his heart stop and goosebumps rise all over his body.
Seven tall men, all dressed in white robes, were standing fifty feet away from them. They were all wearing hoods, pointed at the top, with holes cut in the masks so their eyes could see.
“It’s the Ku Klux Klan,” whispered a paralyzed Ray. “They’re going to kill us.”
For years, these White supremacists had haunted the dreams of Marcus and Ray. The night Ben was killed, Marcus went to sleep after hours of mourning, with the mental picture of these men killing his beloved cousin. He dreamt that he was Ben, fighting for his people, when suddenly they had appeared, ready to murder anyone. There was no way to make a run for it; his feet were stuck to the floor. He was positive that everyone within a mile of him could hear his heart beating, and he was gasping for air as he took his final breaths. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but through the hood of one of the vile men, he thought he saw a wicked smile, and heard a terrifying laugh that he would never forget, when suddenly everything went blank as he heard a gun fire.
Marcus wasn’t sure what happened after that, and suddenly he was back to the present; there was chaos everywhere. He grabbed onto Ray to make sure that they did not get separated from each other. “Stay close,” ordered Ray. “We have to get out alive.” The pair sprinted along with the protesting group. He could hear guns being fired and he sensed a couple of bodies already falling to the ground behind him, motionless and martyred. They ran, as quickly as jackrabbits, away from the the Klan.
“Kill all of them!” yelled one of the hooded men.
“Get back here, you two!” yelled another at Marcus and Ray. He began to pursue them as if his mission were to kill specifically these two. The man was catching up and a moment later, Marcus heard his gun fire right at them. Ray let out a scream that gave Marcus pain just by hearing it.
“Ray! We have to get out of here! You need to get up, let’s go!” Ray’s hand was getting cold, and he was losing blood fast from where the bullet had hit the back of his chest.
“Marcus,” he began in a weary voice, “it’s over. You know I’m about to die. Save yourself from them and leave my body here. Keep fighting for our cause...”
“Hey, get in the car!” yelled a concerned and friendly looking man driving a Ford. He grabbed Ray and half-carried half-dragged him into the car. The man who had just shot Ray swore loudly after the car took off.
“Lucky he found us, Ray. Otherwise we both would be dead!” said a relieved Marcus. “Ray?” he asked, turning in his cousin’s direction. Marcus wished he hadn’t turned, for that image would haunt him for years to come. Ray’s eyes had gone blank and blood was still pouring over a now completely red seat. “Oh my God,” whispered a heartbroken Marcus. “He’s gone.” The car drove into the university and after dropping off Ray’s body, Marcus went to his dorm, alone, with depression feasting on his soul.
Disbelief and an extreme sensation of heartbreak drove itself in front of tears and mourning when the pair’s parents were first informed of Ray’s tragic death. Marcus had stayed shut in his room upon returning home for a few days. He knew he couldn’t keep sulking about the loss of his cousin and that life would go on, no matter how tough it would be to keep fighting, both this emotional battle and the one for equal rights. “Marcus, we’re going to keep you here until you realize that you just can’t go to Tennessee anymore,” said a deflated Mrs. Foster one morning. “It’s just too dangerous. What motivates you to protest now?”
“I know what’s motivating me,” replied a misty-eyed Mr. Wilson. “The loss of both of my sons has given me sadness, yet I have gained a large amount of pride knowing that they both were killed doing something they loved and making the world a better place for themselves and us. I am very grateful to be able to call them my children.”
“Let our protesting be a tribute to Benjamin and Ray,” said Mr. Foster, “our heroes.”
“You can’t be serious,” replied Mrs. Foster. “After all of this, do you think anyone has experienced a change of heart?”
“We will have to be brave and very confident,” Mrs. Wilson said gently. “Marcus will carry on. He and his fellow protesters will gradually bring freedom. I know it.”
Mrs. Foster hesitated for a moment, then nodded. She hugged Marcus and looked him in the eye. “Let the memory of your cousins stay fresh in your mind forever. Now go to your room and start packing. We’ll be leaving for Tennessee soon.”
Marcus went upstairs, but didn’t pay any attention to what he had to pack. That could wait until later. He lay on his bed for the rest of the day remembering what his mother had said about not making a change in anyone’s heart. “Well,” he said to himself, “already, I have convinced four people that I’m doing the right thing.” He knew he would succeed now, he could just feel it. He was on the way.
Was the spider symbolism/foreshadowing? The way you described Ray dying was really descriptive and a little shaking.
ReplyDelete-Miles W
Your story was really good! I think that the use of the spider helped show what the protagonist really felt inside about the protests and was a good use of symbolism!
ReplyDeleteAadil, this story is great. The part where ray dies is powerful, and the symbolism of the spider fits into the story well.
ReplyDeleteTommy R.