The Past, Present, and Future of Race
The days here are hot. The milky blue burns down, scratching at your throat with thirst and carving away at your stomach with shriveling hunger. The thought of stopping and resting now is a delusional fantasy. What's worse are the nights. Frigid and unknowably dark, your only option is to gather with the others for warmth and you're left to try and sleep, all the while remaining wary of what could possibly be out there, the speckles of starlight floating atop the ripples of unfriendly eyes. Your child, still small enough to be held, is already asleep beside you. That untouchable, unknowable feeling of dread is quiet tonight as well, likened to the sound of the dry, wind-blown reeds shushing you to sleep. Tonight may not be one to lay awake in fear, but you know that one of those nights is - nay - has to be coming soon. You'll have to teach your child this fear as well. You'll have to teach them to run as soon as they can walk. ...
