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.

Applying to join, John can smell a sweaty stench. “Take the first door on your left,” the man says “Inside there, is where we discuss our plans.”
“Okay, thanks,” John replied eagerly. Taking a deep breath, John begins to stride down the dusty corridor. Pop music amplifies as John opened the door. Swarming the room, John notices the strategy and planning boards. Nodding his head, a smirk as wide as the rising sun fills John’s face; he knew, this is where he belongs.

Pacing back and forth, John craves to become a stronger active protester for equality. Peacefully protesting; sitting on roads, is not creating a strong enough impact. “Why don’t we ride on a bus that is free of color?” John suggests.
“Don’t you realise you can be killed fool?” muttered a captain.
“I came here to protest, not to watch my people being stood on as doormats,” John boldly exclaims.

The sun swims in the blue sky. In the soft wind, the arms of the old oaks sway. Through the small grey towns they drive. White Americans show sour faces as they see the bus passing down the road. Like scavengers surrounding their prey, many White Americans arrive as the bus drives through. They murmur to each other. John notices crowds of people deliberately rushing out of the clothing stores with white clothes. More of them are sprinting out of a gardening store with pitchforks. Staring at the White Americans, John’s stomach begins to churn. An eerie feeling lingers in the back of his mind.

As the day darkens and the shadows expand, the bus now drives through fields of grass into a pastoral scene.

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

mob.
“Filth!” another yells. Inside the bus, the weak protesters tremble towards the centre as the mob multiplies.

Surrounding the bus, the white figures spiral towards the broken bus.

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

stop.

Steadily the flames creep closer and closer to John. A burning sensation on the skin of his face sharpens. Surrounding red flames trap John. Shutting his eyes, he thinks to himself; it’s over. On the spur of the moment he hears sudden tapping against the roof of the bus. It is raining. Desperately crawling through the dampening flames, His heart thumps faster as he hopes to escape. Painfully thrusting his burnt legs into the ground, John manages to stand up. The black plumes continue to sting his eyes. Still standing, the mob also couldn’t see through the rising smoke. John begins dashing through the stunned mob. Not being able to see, he hopes for the best. Seeing a sign post, John sprints for his life. “10 miles to urban zone,” John read off the post. Limping on the path, he knows that he is finally free.