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United States

When They Come For Me

June 24, 2014

PROMPT: Living in Music


My heart beat is as fast as the soles of my feet against the pavement. My run is stumbling, tripping and pushing passersby. I slide around a corner into shadows. My fingertips are sticky with red spray paint and I lost my stencil bag. I spent months perfecting the designs, discarding the ones that didn't properly express my anger and frustration. A perfect red rose with a massive decaying worm now crawls across the most prominent wall in the city. The chase beats heavily in my head, I can see my pulse behind my eyes. I laugh, loud and long shaking my fists in the direction of the retreating law enforcement, a choice finger raised high above the others. They turn and I swear taking off again When they come for me, the damage is done, I've left my mark, its not the just spray paint I've left on the side of their mall, it is a message, it is a call to arms. I am not a robot I am not a monkey, I will not dance even if the beat's funky. The underbelly of the beast is jus t as sick as its stinking hide. My rebellion is one of many. I'm not a criminal, not a role model, not a born leader, I'm a tough act to follow. I am changing my city for the better and I'm doing it alone. Pushing back is the only direction I have to turn. So I duck my head ball my fists coated in paint and start swinging. The pounding against the sidewalk, inside my head, of the sirens purging the streets of civilians is no match to the pounding of my heart as I step into the now empty street, covered in blood red paint, my coat swirls around me and my breath huffs in my surgical mask. Try to catch up motherf*ckers.


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