Creative Writing: Join The Black Panthers Now !

Rippling in the wind, the banner strikes fear into its foes. Slightly squinting, John reads the poster. “Join the revolution, Join the Black Panthers Now!” Since he always wants to rebel against the Jim Crow laws, now is his chance. Old cars are parked neatly outside the diner as John is walking past. Teenagers are bolting to the bowling alley with their friends. Finally, John spots the base of The Black Panthers. Lacquered Black doors are standing in his path. Grasping the cold handle, his heart beat faster. Not knowing what would happen to him, he had to remind himself why he was here. Swallowing his fear, he begins to open the black doors. The doors creak as he walks in. A young man as tall as a mountain, slouched on the counter.

Buildings are no longer in sight, only green pastures and large farms. Rising into the black sky, the moon illuminates the darkness. Chattering on the bus becomes noiseless. John leans forward as the bus stops. “We’re out of gas!” the driver shouts. John’s breath accelerates as he slowly turns his head away from the window. A light flickers in the corner of his eye. Exhaling deeply, John thinks it is just a star. But the flicker vigorously grows and becomes red. A girl screams as she points towards the growing flames. Wanting to look, John clenches his fists and turns his head towards the glass. Roars of the flaming torches crackle in his ears. White hoods march forward with their pitchforks and rocks. “You don’t belong here!” shouts a member of the

A stronger sooty scent fills John’s nose. His eyes mirror the flaming cross outside the bus. Crazily spitting on the glass, the white figures start to shake the bus. Their pitch forks scrape against the bus, creating a sharp screech. Beginning to break, the protesters cry. But John remains resolute. Creating a trail of gasoline, the furious mob circle the bus. More black smoke enters the bus, causing John to cough. “Stay low!” John commands. He can taste the sooty smoke. In panic, the protesters scatter around the bus. Windows begin to shatter. Shards of glass fly through the air as the mob’s furiously strike the windows of the bus. Outside the bus, the gasoline becomes alive. It breathes its smoky breath into the bus. Black fog blurs the mobs’ vision, as it swallows countless white figures. Shaking on the ground, John crawls towards the broken door. He smashes the door down with his bare hands. Gasping for air, his lungs fill with smoke. His eyes stinging. His spirit breaking. He glances back at his teammates. It is as if death awaits inside the bus; they were crying on the ground. Roars of the fire intensify as the bus engulfs in flames. Spreading out, the black smoke makes the white figures cough severely. In the bus, the agonizing screams