Separate But Not Equal

Chapter XI

I give in, abandoning all my efforts to escape the arms of whoever's decided to restrain me, as I'm dragged carelessly across the stony ground.

"Stop struggling, child," the officer shouts, yanking my feeble figure forward.

"Let go of me, and I will," I grit my teeth, while my whole arm aches to an extent of which it could be torn right off.

I'm almost certain I broke or dislocated something, severely, considering the way I'm being held.

"You're not supposed to be here, we can't have you here, you need to leave," he pants, talking more to himself than me.

Sweat is disgustingly fighting it's way through his shirt appearing on his forehead and under his armpits, in a disturbing image.

He seems so worried, so stressed out about the possibility that someone like me, could ruin his not so perfect reputation as a police officer.

A police officer dedicated to keeping the streets safe for the Americans of Birmingham.

Safe for all the white Americans of Birmingham.

Time picks up rapidly, like my pulse as I'm forced into a dodgy-looking station.

Too distracted to focus on the ambiguous issue at hand; two different thoughts insistently tugging at my mind.

Christopher.

What happened to Christopher?

Why do I want to know what happened to Christopher?

I don't care about Christopher at all.

Do I?

NO, no, I don't.

It's Christopher Evans.

Selfish, arrogant, pompous, rude, Christopher Evans.

Papa.

Where's Papa? Why wasn't he at home? He's always at home?

I'm so dazed off from the existent earth around me, I only realise what's happening when I'm nearly tripped over a desk.

I lift my head up, grimacing as I meet the aging, wrinkled, spine chillingly horrid face of Commissioner Connor.

The man that ignores all the murders, kidnaps and bombs on African American's that are increasing hurriedly over the years.

He presses the bridge of his glasses down, sighing in dismay.

"Another one, again? You were supposed to keep them under control," The commissioner starts raising his voice.

"I know that's wh-"

"No, we made it obvious, they aren't allowed to walk out here, and just act as though they are normal people. It's not ok. The rules are clear. We told the blacks what to do," he glances at me, and starts creeping around the wooden desk. "If they don't listen they get shot, if you see them, you shoot, no matter how weak they are."