The Last Night

Marcus was tired of being harassed by the police. He had done nothing wrong, but they always stopped him on his way home from work, searched his backpack, asked him where he was going, and sometimes even frisked him. He knew it was because he was Black, and he lived in a poor neighborhood where crime was rampant. But he was not a criminal. He was a hard-working cashier at a grocery store, trying to save money for college.

One night, as he was walking home, he saw the familiar flashing lights of a police car behind him. He sighed and stopped, knowing what was coming. He put his backpack on the ground and waited for the officer to approach him.

“Hey, you. What are you doing here?” the officer asked, shining a flashlight in his face.

“I’m just going home, sir,” Marcus said politely.

“Home? Where’s that?” the officer asked.

“Just around the corner, sir. I live on 12th Street.”

“12th Street? That’s a bad area. You sure you’re not up to something?”

“No, sir. I’m not.”

The officer looked at his backpack suspiciously. “What’s in there?”

“Just some books and stuff, sir.”

“Books and stuff? Let me see.”

The officer grabbed his backpack and opened it. He rummaged through it, throwing some of Marcus’ belongings on the ground.

“Hey, be careful with that!” Marcus protested.

“Shut up!” the officer snapped. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

He pulled out a book from Marcus’ backpack. It was a copy of “The Autobiography of Malcolm X”.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“It’s a book, sir.”

“I can see that. What kind of book?”

“It’s about Malcolm X, sir. He was a civil rights leader.”

“Civil rights leader? More like a troublemaker. You know he advocated violence against white people?”

“No, sir. He didn’t. He just wanted justice and equality for Black people.”

“Justice and equality? Is that what you want?”

“Yes, sir. Don’t you?”

The officer sneered. “Don’t get smart with me, boy. You know what I want? I want you to respect my authority and follow my orders.”

“I do respect your authority, sir. But I also have rights.”

“Rights? You don’t have any rights. You’re nothing but a thug.”

“I’m not a thug, sir. I’m a human being.”

“A human being? You don’t look like one to me.”

The officer threw the book on the ground and reached for his gun.

“What are you doing?” Marcus asked, alarmed.

“I’m doing you a favor,” the officer said. “I’m putting you out of your misery.”

He pointed the gun at Marcus’ chest and pulled the trigger.

Bang!

Marcus felt a sharp pain in his chest and fell to the ground.

He looked at the blood spreading on his shirt and realized he was dying.

He thought of his mother, who would be waiting for him at home.

He thought of his dreams of going to college and becoming a lawyer.

He thought of all the injustice and racism he had faced in his life.

He thought of Malcolm X and his words:

“We declare our right on this earth…to be a human being…to be respected as a human being…to be given the rights of a human being in this society…on this earth…in this day…which we intend to bring into existence by any means necessary.”

He closed his eyes and whispered:

“By any means necessary.”