☕ : A Black story
When I arrived at an empty house after school that day, I reached to straighten the magazines on one of the bookshelves in our family room. I was 7. In the pile was an old Jet magazine. The cover was of a boy who bad men had killed. His picture was there. He was on a box bed. I read the story and in it, I discovered that children die and horror was a part of Black life. It had happened just 2 years before that moment.