#TheMelaninMovement
What does it mean to be 'Too Far Gone'? It means 'too late to change'. 'No more hope'. Somebody has not only turned the power off, but they pulled the plug. However, for Chenelle Hampton, just because someone pulled the plug didn...
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"Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."
Matthew 6:34
Obscure darkness yielded to a blinding white light. Warmth radiated from the source of said light, toasting color onto her skin and the world surrounding her. A wave of sound soon followed, whimsical birds chirping cheerfully above growling engines. Chenelle gasped, choking on the fresh air whilst shielding her eyes from the light - the sun. Her eyes fell downwards as she frantically searched for a knife, a stab wound, perhaps a stain of blood on her sweater, but any and every trace of the wound was gone.
"What the..." Her outward thoughts were interrupted by a septic truck rolling by, the pungent scent of waste reaching her nostrils. She grimaced and waved her hand in front of her nose in hopes of expelling the smell. She let out a disgusted groan. Looking around, she didn't know which of the five W's she should start with. Her thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of a bell, alerting her that a door was being opened. A painfully familiar voice sent a chill down her spine.
"Chenelle!" Her mother, Shawnee, called out from the salon door, "What'chu standing around for? I need you inside!"
Chenelle turned and faced her mother, everything about her being the exact same way it was before she died: her golden brown complexion, frizzy coils and curls, hazel-green eyes and tall, curvy frame; she looked like a goddess, just the way remembered. Chenelle was in awe, her mouth subconsciously dropping at the sight of her mother, tears welling up in her eyes as she was overcome by intense emotions. A worried look grew on her mom's face. "What's wrong, Nelle?"
She didn't know, nor would she understand if she told her. 'Was this reality?' Chenelle questioned. Everything felt so real from the sounds to the smells. She shook her head at her and wiped her eyes, lying with, "I just got something in my eyes is all."
"Oh, well, come back inside before you sweat your hair out."
Chenelle hesitated on her first step before her feet began to move on its own, starting a slow gait back towards the salon. Inside looked exactly the way it did all those years ago; bright, cheery and playfully decorated with flowers and unique wall-art. On the ceiling held a mural painting by a talented street artist which depicted baby Chenelle being held by her mother, whose long, golden curls branched out from their roots, cascading slightly down the walls.
"Baby," her mom said, "can you go grab me another bottle of shampoo? Not the regular one either; it's on the top shelf."
The top shelf of the supply closet had always been a troublesome battle she'd never won. At her younger age, she was too short to be able to reach the top shelf without assistance. Usually, Shawnee would ask her sister or another one of her stylists to get it for her, but on this early morning, nobody was there besides the two of them.
