The Meadows Across Town

*WARNING: THIS STORY IS SET IN SOUTH AFRICA DURING APARTHEID, SO IT CONTAINS GRAPHIC CONTENT AND HARSH LANGUAGE*

The calescent South African sun advanced to litter Johannesburg with heat as blacks ran about in horror, having only the idea of hiding from the right-abusing whites on mind. We were all in fear of

being shot by the whites for being black that we went behind counters and under tables to try and hide from them. They always ripped our rights out of our hands by forcing us against walls and spitting death threats down our throats. All we wanted was to live in peace and harmony, but we got more than we bargained for. I still remember it all so clearly, with a concerning amount of accuracy. I remember the year of 1958 best, the year my father was robbed of life.

“Katleho Nzeogwu, you getcho dark behind over here before them white men see you,” screamed my mother just moments before she lost the one she had loved for so many years. I was running to my sister Lala, whereas she was sitting next to the window and nobody thought to grab her from her seat before we ran from the vicious gunshot sounds we heard. My audacious father ran for her, but was killed in the process. The bullet went right above his right ear, causing him to fall to his apparent death. As soon as this happened, I knew it was just the whites being whites and hating us blacks, but it was so unfair. I wanted to scream in desolation and resentment, I wanted who did this injustice to perish themselves, causing their beloved family great sadness and grief as ours was feeling. Stopping myself from the overflowing frustration and rage from this, I got hold of Lala, removing her from my father's lifeless arms. She started a slight yet escalating cry, understandable due to the confusion and sadness she must have been feeling. Once I brought her over to my mother's room, where we hid from possible death, I saw my mother in tears, mourning over the harsh passing of her life companion, her role model, the one she loved the most. Once she saw me, she was glad to see I was okay, other than a few slight scrapes on my arm. I gave her Lala, who was in rougher shape than I, suffering from the fall of her in my father's arms, causing a broken arm. I promptly slid the side table next to her bed over for Lala to lay on. The most we could do for her was attempt to calm her down. As this was happening, the background screams dimmed and we knew the whites were moving on from our neighborhood to the other side of the township. Cautiously, mother and I got up and looked out the crack in the door, peering at only some of the damage done by the intruders. I went to tap my mother on the shoulder to ask her a question, but when I went to turn around, she was in the middle of the kitchen knees grounded looking into father’s quiet yet ever so courageous face. She sobbed over his carcass, as I did as well. Lala was still in the other room, somehow asleep, so we went over and woke her from slumber.

“Come on baby girl, mama’s gonna help, it's all over, your okay, mama loves you” whispered to Lala ever so lovingly while picking her up.

“Katleho, open the door now, we have not much time, she is hurt,” she said to me, previous to me holding the door open and running out with her to find someone who could help her. Bongani, our neighbor and family friend, was not a doctor, but he knew a thing or two about how to deal with something like this. Once we arrived at his doorstep, I knocked and he opened up for us, scared to think we might be a group of berating white men. My mother yelled in distress and tears

“She has been broken for more than an hour, help please!” Bongani let us in and wiped his table of anything on it and put Lala on it. He short-timingly wrapped her arm in a few pieces on newsletter he had on the table previously.

“Keep her arm straight for three weeks, this should help,” he said, later explaining further details and that she would be fine. Saying thank you, mother and I left for our home and heard a voice from behind us.

“You kaffirs got a pass or am’ I gonna have to lock ya’ up,” hissed a white man, waiting for an answer. Mother immediately countered his question with “The children are five and ten, baas,” scared to see what he would say next.

“Then where are your papers, goddamnit! Give em’ up, give em’ here now,” he said in a concerningly aggravated tone. After hearing this, I remembered seeing mother put them next to the bedstand when laying Lala down.

“Mother, you left them at home on the nightstand, I’ll grab them very quickly,” I said shortly, hoping to save my mother a hefty five years locked up in cells. Unfortunately the white man did not like this idea

“Ah, so I’ve caught a sneaky little kaffir, haven’t I? Looks as though you're in trouble, eh!” I was petrified for mother as the white officer got right up in her face and backhand slapped her, then punching her with all of his might.

“Mother!” I shouted in distress, followed by the officer’s reply.

“You’re not any better ya’ little rat,” he said, continuing to kick me to the ground. I opted to not say anything after that, as it may have lead to my mother and I to be hit and roughhoused more. Lala fell from my mother's hands as the white man ripped her off the ground and into his tight grasp. He dragged her away as another white officer came and dragged me away. Luckily, I was able to keep Lala in loving grasp, away from harm's way. I was worried what was happening, I didn’t fully understand where my mother was going, or for that matter where I was going. Bongani stared out of his doorway, looking at us with sorrow in his eyes, knowing there was nothing that he could do for us. Knowing that there was no way he could make us feel okay, or not knowing where we were going.

The officers split off in different directions, heartlessly separating Lala and I from mother. I then screeched the last words of mine mother would hear.

“Mother, I love you, stay safe, I will keep Lala safe. I love you, I will always love you,” I said sympathetically yet desperately. I just kept telling my baby sister “It will all be okay, I'm so sorry, it is okay Lala. I love you,” in a failed attempt to calm her down. We were slammed against the side of a neighbor’s home, damaging the wall and our backs

“Listen up you bloody kaffirs, you will never see your mom again, we are locking her up. The woman thinks she can get away with being sneaky, well we’re going to teach her a little lesson. You go back to the little shack you call home and don't be doing disrespecting, or we’ll smack the sneak right out of you.” I didn't know how to reply to any of this, so I followed with a simple and forced answer.

“Yes, baos,” letting him know I was respecting him.

“Good, now run along, go,” he said to us with sass and disrespect in his voice. I then grabbed Lala and ran back to home as quickly as I could, scared there would be someone else trying to hurt me.

Opening the door, I forgot about my deceased father, who had been laying there for excess of 7 hours, smelling horrid and covered in flies. I ran into mother’s room, grabbed as many clothes as I could fit into my arms and ran to Bongani’s house. I went to Bongani’s house because I knew that he would protect Lala and I from danger. I knocked on his door, this time without mother, and he opened up.

“What happened boy, I was scared, what happened, where is your mother?”

“She got taken away by the white man, another white man took me and Lala and put us up against a wall and screamed at us. I ran home to find father dead on the ground. I forgot he was there, so he scared me and I’m scared to sleep there,” I said in a scared tone, you could tell I was more heartbroken inside than I showed on the outside. He let us in and told me to put Lala in a chair in the walkway.

“You go and rest, it's getting very late, you can take my bed, we have a lot to do tomorrow,” he said to me kindly and gently, trying to make me feel at home. As he wanted me to, I went to his bed and tried to fall asleep. I stayed there, unknowing what to even think about. I thought to myself about what happened that day, it was 9 hours of stress, and it wasn’t even over yet. I knew that there were still things that needed to be done. I thought about having to take father from home and burying him deep into the rich soil, separating him from his spirit. I thought about mother, and what was going to happen to her, whether it be brutal beatings or the harsh confinement of being locked up for up to twenty years. Finally, after more than an hour of sitting there contemplating, I fell into a deep sleep.

The next day, I woke up to the sound of Bongani’s kind, excited, yet careful words. Once up, I changed my clothes and walked outside with Lala and Bongani to see my home covered in flowers and people surrounding. I was touched, everyone cared so much about me, they all came and helped when I was down. I ran over and pushed through the crowd.

“Excuse me, that's my father in there,” I said, requesting all of the people in the crowd to make a path. As I walked in, I peered over at father, who lay there in little to no clothing. He was laid on his back, surrounded by wooden crosses and blue flowers from the meadow across the township. Speechless, I got up the courage to say something to the people in front of me.

“Who did this to my father, who is responsible?” I requested, and nearly everyone in the crowd raised their hands in silence, I began to cry more. As they brought him to the back of the house, where a 6 foot deep hole awaited him, I went and said my last prayers on his grave.

“Father, you were a brave man, one of the bravest I have known. You make sure mother was okay, and you tried your best to make sure Lala and I were safe, and you did a good job. I love you father, and I hope you live a peaceful life in heaven.” I then watched as his carcass was placed into the hole and buried with hundreds of pounds of dirt, flowers, and love.

“What are all ya doin together, get back in your homes, now! Ill count to 10 and I won’t see more than 2 of ya next to each other, got that!?” Scared, I remembered the Group Areas Act, I wasn’t allowed to be with all of these kind people. We scrambled around into our homes, thankfully having none of us get hurt.

Ever since this day, I have not seen mother, and nothing tells if she is somewhere in Johannesburg with Lala and I or up in heaven with father. Lala and I, now being 20 and 15, live together, and no matter what, I will always be at her side. I will never let anything bad happen to her, no matter what. As for Bongani, he has been neutral. This time of distress makes it impossible to be happy, but he was as close as one can be. I still live in the same home I did as a child, and everyday, Lala and I go to the meadow across the township, pick a flower, and plant it above my father, watering the flowers every day, sending loving life to the spirit of my father.

Lala walked alongside me into the house, shutting the door, and eating a breakfast in conversation on what we did the day before. All of a sudden, we heard a scream, it came from Bongani’s house. As quickly as I could, I left Lala behind.

”Stay here, don't move,” I exclaimed. I walked in to see an officer with bloody fists next to his immobile body, I was confused.

“Stay away or I'll do similar things to you, kaffir,” he said, as I ran into my home, opening then slamming the door as hard as I could to try and hide from the white man. Lala spoke in an innocent yet distressed voice.

“What happened, is he okay?” I replied not with words, but by sitting on mother’s old bed and crying. She walked over and sat next to me, in a failed attempt to try and make me feel better.

“What’s wrong, is Bongani okay? I heard screaming and I am confused, what's happening?” I replied sympathetically.

“He’s gone, Lala, he’s gone”.

Mom

Nathan Landis
 November 20th, 2014

I felt lonely, as if someone had just reached into my life and took everything tat could possibly be fascinating away from me. I wanted to start crying, I had nobody to be with me anymore, nobody to roam around in the wild with. Nobody left to just stop whatever we were doing, look at eachother, and know that we were the best friends in the world. I want to be able to get along with others, like all of the other people in this world. Everyone takes interacting with people as such an advantage, but if they had to take a alk in my shoes, well, they couldn't, due to my blindness, and the fact that I am mute. I used to play with this kid named Jeffery, he was really nice. His mom used to pat my back, and whenever she did, it meant that an hour had past since I had been with Jeffery. I always played at his house for about 2 hours at a time, so I would know when I had to go home. I loved Jeffery and his whole family so much, but when my mother told me that they had moved away, I was more drenched in my tears than Justin Bieber is with dollar bills. I didn't see any point in being with this neighborhood anymore, so I wrote on a piece of paper that I gave to my mother that I wanted to move away. Of course, she said no immediatly, shutting me down like an old lady would to a rejected coupon, enraged and telling me to go to places that seem to not be the most appropriate.
I suddenly realized, I didn't have to listen to her. I could live my own life, learning how to get by when I do what I want to do. This all hot me almost as hard as Chris Brown hit Rihanna, I knew what to do with myself. I wanted to do things all by myself, I wanted to life free, like a true american. Unfortunatly, this is not possible for me, due to my mute and blindness disabilities. The one thing that is and always was important to me was my hearing. Without this, I could not do all the things that am so strictly limited to doing, such as snooping on what my parents are saying, and listening to music. Once I tried to continue on with this almighty plan of going off on my own doing what I want to do, I started to run into so many roadblocks that I had to stop. The fact that I can not see anything ever at all makes me not be able to just run away, and I can not ask my mom to tell me where I am going, that would make my efforts have no purpuse. I gave up on this plan and started to relive the life that I had previously had.
Going through the years, I had grown a stronger and stronger bond with my mother, making us go from 2 individuals to a single megamind. We kept growing a stronger and stronger friendship, as a leaf does with a tree. Waiting and wait ing for the right moment to finally reveal them self, deciding if they are sure, then fully commiting to be part of the tree. I loved having this connection with my mother, it was as good as honey to a bear. This was all amazing, until October 14th came along in the year of 2005. Just as a leaf grows happily for the longest time, at some point te leaf has to fall. My mother died at the age of 45 from Ebola Desiese. This was the worst thing that had ever happened to me, and I think about it everyday.

The Shocking Adventure

I didnt know what to do by then, I had already exausted all of my possible ways out. I could try to do that weird thingy where you rub a needle against a cloth, bend it, then use it like a compass, but i didn't even have a needle! This was a disaster, being lost at sea, all alone, having your family not have the slightest of an idea on where you are or even how you got there. I was scared, honestly, about how this would all go sown. Either I willfall down to the bottom of the ocean, never to be found, or I will fall to hell, taking the life of an innocent living creature, in search of food to get back to the mainland, or even an island for that matter. I quickly decided that I had to bust into action, trying to do the right thing, I didn't. I took the soul of that innocent dolphin just to be able to have solmethuing to eat. I was dissapointed in myself for doing this, but I also knew that it was the last logistical option. I ate what I could, then contunuted trying to sail the boat the the original land of where I had taken off. This was a highly difficult task, in saying that the winds were at over 20 miles per hour facing in thne wrolng direction.I saw all of this trash out in the ocean, I was so sad and depressed while passing it all. At one point, I had even seen a poor little manatee trapped in a grocery bag. After about four and a half more days, I was unshockingly on the shoulder of California's Bay. Is it bad that I was not the happiest about coming to land again?

Hiding Behind Your Own Shadows

I walked out, replenished and full of glee.v I was so happy to be able to have this amazing opportunity for myself. I was just so overtaken by happiness that I couldn't even speak. I just wanted to go up to that man and give him the biggest bear hug that I could provide. I'm john, and average man with what seems to be an above average lifestyle and living standard. I try my best to keep my family in check, and I do my share to make money as well. I work a full-time job for my amazing family and an amazing life for what I know. I have a life where I can talk to whoever I want whenever I wanted to. This was because nobody even minded talking to me, due to the fact that the people loved the type of person that I made myself out to be. I enjoy my life because I feel that I make a pretty big impact in the world. If I see an old lady trying to cross the street on a busy road, I hop out of my car and go help her out. When I see a poor man in a subway, I have a tradition to give them whatever I have the waitress or waiter from a restaurant as a tip so that they can try to be as happy as I am. I like going into the city and watching all of the street performers play after I am done at work. I always give each of then 1-5 dollars, dependent on how good they are. I like being generous and trying to help people out all the time because I know that if in my life I am ever in a sticky situation like those people may be in, I have the whole world to be able to help me out. I also like being able to have options, you know, being able to choose things. I like this because when I have a choice to do something, I usually try to do what will help other people and sometimes me, whenever I can make that work out. Unfortunately, my life as a child was not the best of the bunch. My parents were both crack addicts and I was born when my mother was 4 days under the influence. My parents are both dead because they were alcohol, drug, and food addicts. My father, just to add onto this, was also a major scale Horder, something that me and the rest of my family was not too fond of. I always thought tat he was such a good man, and to have him be addicted to all 3 of these things at once just made me so sad as a chi;d. My parents both did crack, all throughout my childhood life. Even when I was an infant, they did it, and I always found that so sad. I just never understood what they were doing for the longest time, until I told my best friends about what I see on a daily basis. They all knew what was up, and so they told me, then I was shocked and disappointed with them. I knew by about the age of 7 that they were addicted to the alcohol,  but the incident about finding out about this awful second hidden addiction set in at about the age of 12. I was just so depressed at the time, I cried on a nightly basis. People would see me go into the bathroom at school and come out crying, they would all try to figure out what was wrong, but I never dared to tell a soul of the actions. I also suffered from a poor life as a child, having to eat a TV dinner almost daily, having "homemade meal" only about once every week or two. by homemade meal, I of course mean the mashed potatoes and chicken nuggets that she had to stuff into the toaster oven for 10 minutes instead of the 2 minute TV dinner or ramen that I was usually used to. I try to forget about that old life though. I like to now think about what I have for myself now a days, that I have a successful job, wife, and kids. I like everything about my modern day life, and all that I can ever think about is my parents, that are no longer living, but I already told you that. The one thing that I taught myself to say to myself every day is "Keep you head held high, even if your parents are too", try that for your new "InstaQuote Of The Day".

The Diary of the Struggle

Really, there is no way out of this mess, all that I could do was wait. I had to wait here, sit here, just waiting for the best of luck, just begging all holy to help me. Do you know what it feels like to just not even know, like, you think that you know the answer to something, but you really and truly don't? Because, well, now I do, you feel like you have no control about what cards your fate put on the table fro you. You don't have any idea if you belong with group A or group B, or if you should go off on your own with all the other confused ones and make a group C. Have you ever just thought that there isn't a chance in the world that you could make it to the end of the line, or maybe you won't even end up making it half way. Sorry, I am being so rude, my name is Jose, well, leagally, my street name is Cici. I was born in what most people call "The Regect's Section" of California, in Oakland to be more specific. I sometimes hope that one day, my life will just completely reset and I will get a whole new opportunity. This hasn't happened yet, so for now, I am just pushing along with what I do have, my friends, family, and most importantly, my identity. I'm lucky that I still have all of the things that I do, most of the people in my neighborhood get broken into on the first couple of months, yet I have lived here for 2 years without getting broken into. In my honest opinion, Oakland gets a bad reputation because of all of the druggies and homeless people. If you take out all of the rejects from Oakland, it really isn't a horrible place to live, in fact, it is actually a pretty nice area. In my part of the city, there was this person named Andreas and he was thought to be one of the most dangerous people in the entire city. This was impressive because he was only 19 years old and didn't own a single weapon, but he needed none of that. He knew every single person in the city that was even suspected to have something to do with drugs, so he took "having connections" to a whole new level. I always thought of this guy as a friend to me, until I got to know this about him. He got let out of prison yesterday for trying to attack me when I told him that I couldn't know him anymore due to his drug addictions and connections. He told me that when he got out of prison that he would get everyone he knew on me and get me dead. I was scared, until, I flew into LA for the weekend, just to get away from the ghetto life and spend a few days just living larger that life. So, here I am now, just waiting to see what will happen to my poor soal when I get back into the city of the poor. I am thinking about just running into my hom, putting all of the belongings that I can carry into my car, and speeding off to live somewhere else. This thought that I might not be living for much longer is really scaring me so much, and I don't know what will happen, I just don't know. Anyways, that is why I wrote this short summary of my life, so that even if I do die tomorrow, At least you can tell my lengthy tale to anyone who wants to hear it. So, wish frot he best of me, I am off to the airport, or maybe I will take a little detour instead, but who knows, but thanks for caring about what I am or was.

The Fate of the Forgotten

I was almost insulted about what this man had just told me, it seemed as if he wanted me to jump. I stand here now, at the top of this cliff, debating yes or no, a life-dependent decision in the most literal sense possible. It was strange, not being able to decide my own fate for myself, but having dozens of people below me try to persuade my opinions. I felt pointless at that point, having all of my family obviously not love me, due to them putting me up for adoption at the age of 7. I sat in that same room for 5 more years, with such limited chances to leave that one place. I ate in that foster home room with the same disgusting slop, Derek, for 5 years, having the same disgustingly flavored ramen for 6 of the 7 days in the week. when I was 12, I decided that I wanted to run away and have my shot of living homeless on the streets of my dreaded state, Michican. This seemed to actually work pretty well for the past 3 years, until I finally came to senses and thought more about why I had to live this awful life. That is when I had started to remember all of the misfortunes that I have encountered. I have never had a single person that felt actual love for me, I sat on the same hillside and ate whatever I could find for 3 years, and nevermind my educational status. I was a very bright young kid, with all A's in all of my classes, and nobody ever even acknowledged me for this. I started to think more and more about how I am not accepted in this modern day's society, I don't actually belong. So, in this thought process, I walked over to this hill just a couple of minutes ago and told myself "Are you worth it, or should you just fall to the ground like all of your life achievements?". And now, here I stand, determining that very same decision with what seemed to be thousands of people and news reporters shouting at me that I was worth something. But, this started to persuade me for a second, having all of these people say that they love me and that I could start a new life and be accepted more that I previously had been. I saw all of those people down there, and for about 2 minutes, I just looked at all of the people and tried to make some of the faces out. There were a lot of people that I had recognised, but couldn't exactly put my finger on their names. Just then, I saw something that made me have a burst of joy and hope that I had never felt before, my birth parents. I just barely saw their mouths move in the gesture of "Come back, we have always loved you!!!", and it cheered my mood immediately. I decided that I wouldn't take the jump after all. So, I stood back up from my knees, and wanted to walk back down to the edge of the tallest known mountain in the entire state of Michigan. Just then, disaster struck, and a rock lie there taunting me. I was walking along the side of the edge. when I interrupted this rock from it's nothing, and tripped on it. Everyone watched as I fell to the bottom of the what seemed an endless cliff and cried like a baby who hasn't had it's diaper changed in a matter of weeks and needs to be fed. I dropped, from that 120 foot cliff, and, well, lived. Unscaved, I awed at the sight of my crushed birth father. I was depressed after seeing this horrible thing, he jumped under where I was going to land and his body covered my fall to the flat surface below. That was the point when I realized that they really did love me all along. Of course, this was just what I had hoped would happen. I actually dropped tp the bottom to see my parents in front of my at the bottom of the cliff, smiling. I was so sad at this last millisecond of my life, but I didn't even have enough time to express these feelings. I lie there, dead, lifeless, at the bottom of that edge, with my final seconds of my life in the thought that I was really never loved and that I did actually deserve this cruel fate.

The End

My Best Experiance (Very Short Story) (In Spanish)

En un dia, yo despiertate para la sona de un piano de cola, y es para un profecional de toca la intrumente porque la sona es magnifico. Yo ir a la sona porque yo necesito en mi mente mire la persona en la piano. En el tiempo de yo mire la sona, es un video en la computador en YouTube, la persona de tengo el video esto muy, umy magnifico en toca la instrumente. Yo tengo insparacion para la video de practico la piano y, en mi mente, yo necesito esto un persona para toca la piano muy bueno. Un parte de un ano pasa para yo escucho muchos muchos muchos videos del personas toce la piano y en mi compleanos de yo estan 8 o 9, yo recibe un piano electronico. Yo es muy feliz porque yo tengo la oppertunidad de practica toca musica en la piano. Yo practico mucho y mucho, anos y anos, y en hoy dias, yo practica en el exactamente piano electronico. Yo completa un “Friday Workshop” de yo toca la cancion de “Let It Go”, y en hoy, yo practico un cancion muy inportante de yo. Yo tengo mi favorito amigo, Hailey Fitch, y es un muy bien persona. En hoy, yo toca un cancion de Hailey encanto mucho en el grado 8 para la grupo “Le Cab” y el nombre de la cancion es “Angel With A Shotgun” Yo es muy bueno en el toce de la cancion, en uno del mis favoriots canciones en hoy porque es la cancion en el piano del doy mucho mas insparacion para continuen para tocan la piano. Hailey no solo es mi favorito amigo porque la cancion y la grupo, es porque yo sabo Hailey por 4 anos. En el grado 5, Yo y Hailey estan en similar clases y yo miro Hailey mucho. En los grados 5 y 6, yo y Hailey no es por exactamente nombre “amigos”, porque yo es muy differente y no bueno en los grados 5 y 6. En los grados de 7 y 8, yo y hailey estan muchos mas buenos amigos. Yo y Hailey hable con en todo tiempo y es mucho buenos amigos. Y hoy ano en alto escuela, yo y Hailey estamos amigos y en mi mente, estan amigos por mucho, mucho, mucho mas tiempo.