It's the last few minutes of "Fear of The Walking Dead".
We’ve been introduced to three black seemingly strong male characters.
The last few minutes ends with the murder of the friend/drug dealer.
I could feel the force of the bullet penetrating his gut.
The inevitable approached like a roaring train,
or maybe a tornado.
I can smell the moisture of the pending storm and bullshit in the air.
Another image of a brutally murdered
pigmently concentrated man on the screen.
But that failed to be enough.
The friend/drug addict who ended his friends existence as a human
and ushered him into the living dead came back for more.
The anger on my tongue tasted like every good for me, but disgusting vegetable I was forced to hover over at dinner. Maybe it was the freshly fertilized dirt they grew in.
I could taste the blood in my mouth as I bit my tongue.
The image of an undead black man run over, and over, and over, again until the drug addict deads the undead.
Another brutal slaying,
an image seared in my mind like the grill lines of rancid steak.
They hired us!
We're on TV!
But the picture they give me,
says there is no hope for me,
in the future,
of anyone's apocalypse.
By the end of episode two, all of the black faces we were introduced to where killed. I just want to know that there's hope for me in the future. Shout out to Deep from Houston VIP for the writing workshop shop that squeezed these words out of me.
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Poems, Haiku and rough drafts that probably won't get much stage time.