A Million Little Lights
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Title: A Million Little Lights SE01EP01 - “Woke on a Monday” Created By: Obelisk Media Group, LLC Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesases, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. In Memory of A Million Little Lights An Obelisk Media Group Presentation. © Obelisk Media Group, LLC 2017-2018 Date: 12/11/2017 Time: 1:32 PM PST Mood: WTF? Zaria swiped her finger backwards across the screen again and again. Her eyes had to be deceiving her. “This has to be fake news” she thought. “Someone had to have photoshopped this video….well… ‘video-shopped’ it anyway.” Sitting in her car on her lunch break, Zaria took a strong pull from her vape pen as she hit play one more time. The marijuana hit her system, but the reality of the video clip hit way harder. It was the dash cam footage from the murder of DeMarr Lacey. The 15 year old was unarmed and doing nothing illegal when he was shot to death in Zaria’s hometown of Cleveland, Ohio just last night. She didn’t know the young man, but it felt like she did. He dressed like the kids from her st neighborhood dressed. He had the jawline like her Pastor and a hairline like her 1 crush, and sadly a lifeline like far too many brothers and sisters around the nation. She had sat at the very same bus shelter he was murdered in front of countless times before. Frantically, the bewildered young man in the video stood like a statue with his palms facing God. The two officers unloaded. POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! The first two shots hit him in the chest and stomach. You can see DeMarr double over and fall to the ground writhing in pain as Cleveland’s finest peppered his adolescent frame with 3 more bullets for good measure. Even in the grainy video you could see blood leaking out of the face of Chief Wahoo, the Cleveland Indians logo that adorned the young man’s shirt. The Cleveland baseball cap which he kept meticulously clean now lay carelessly in the gutter. 1:33 SMH, she was already 3 minutes late returning from lunch. Zaria stuffed her face with the remainder of her chicken wrap. Her hands were literally trembling. Unsure as to whether it was the tears or the THC that made her eyes look Netflix red, she splashed some Clear Eyes in her eyes and some gum in her mouth before hastily scurrying back to her office. Her heels clicked across the lobby floor causing people to look up as she walked by. She jammed the ‘close elevator’ button in the hopes of getting to clock in a few seconds sooner. She was physically “there” but her mind was ingrained with the visual of DeMarr taking his last breath on instant replay. “Hey. How was lunch?” Asked Debbie. The smug looking soccer mom who sat in the cubicle next to Zaria. “The smoothie shop was out of pomegranate.” Zaria brushed off the question as she logged back into her computer system. “Debbie’s ass always got something to say.” She thought. Zaria could see right through the shade. Debbie and Zaria never got along, and was certain that Debbie had been complaining to the supervisor about her for weeks. Debbie didn’t give a shit how her lunch went. She just wanted Zaria to know that she as aware what time she clocked back in. Have you ever been around an old white person where you could smell the Jim Crow on them? Debbie was most certainly one of those people. Undeterred by Debbie’s trolling, Zaria put her headphones in, her head down and pushed her way through the remainder of her work day. That was until her phone started vibrating in her purse. Zaria had a date lined up with a guy she met off of Tinder the other day. As advertised, she was 20 minutes late to the small Korean BBQ spot on Alameda. “Sorry I’m late, traffic from that wildfire had the freeway backed up.” Omar smiled. “It’s all good,” He replied. “I just got here maybe 5 minutes ago.” Omar was a cutie. Zaria was pleasantly surprised as he actually looked like his profile pic. She had heard horror stories of people getting “catfished” online countless times before. He had the smile, the dimples and the beard. Everything was looking good. Well, that was until he stood up to give her a hug. The booth he was sitting in was slightly elevated, so when he rose to greet her, Zaria was taken aback to realize that Omar was looking her in the eye, in flats. Bummer. It wasn’t exactly a deal breaker for Zaria. She never considered herself to be particularly vain or shallow. To the contrary, the only thing Zaria Amina loved more than intelligent conversation and witty banter was to hear YG’s music come on in the club. In all seriousness, the height thing wasn’t exactly a deal breaker, but she had no intention of spending any amount of time with a dude that can’t put two sentences together about anything other than the LA Lakers and Lonzo Ball. “So, Zaria. Please. Tell me a little bit about yourself.” Omar asked while he expertly grilled chicken and vegetables on the table in front of them. “Ahh. Well, you know, I’m Zaria Amina, I’m 22. I’m originally from Cleveland, Ohio. I moved to LA about 8 months ago to become an entertainment reporter. In the meantime, I work part time in this call center, but my job sucks. The smoke wafted from the table as he started transitioning food from the table to the plates. “Do you have any kids?” “No.” “Me neither.” He said with a grin. “So, what’s Cleveland like? I don’t know a whole lot about it.” Zaria blew on the steam emanating from the food on the end of her fork. It was a small bite, yet it was so hot that she still had to jostle it back and forth in her mouth for a moment before digesting. “I love it, its home.” She replied before taking a sip of water. “Would you ever consider moving back?” “I wouldn’t move back. Life is about moving forward, right? Besides, did you see the video of the police shooting that unarmed black kid in Cleveland last week?” Omar shrugged his shoulders and his trapezius muscles popped out the top of his shirt. “I don’t really get into all that. I don’t have time for it.” Caught off guard by his casual indifference, Zaria raised an eyebrow and adjusted her chair before engaging Mr. Omar Powell any further. “You don’t have time for black people being murdered by police? You don’t have time? The dash cam clip was only 14 seconds long.” Though she tried to maintain her composure, but the change in the conversation was visibly working a nerve. “To keep it 100, I see so much of that shit on my timeline, it’s hard to even keep track of what we’re supposed to be mad about today. We talking about the shooting in Cleveland, or the one in Baton Rouge, or Ferguson, Missouri or Charleston or Baltimore?” Zaria found his general indifference to the laughable. Especially considering what she had seen him post when she was creepin’ through his FB page before the date... ‘So basically, he cares about the injustice when it’s against someone who’s lit.’ she thought to herself. “Negroes, have the mental focus to find illegal streams of boxing matches….If you can find time in your day to dissect a Drake diss song like it’s the Kennedy assassination tape… you can find time to know about what’s happening in the world around you. Maybe you don’t have any sons, but what about your cousins or your homies or their sons?” Omar chuckled as if amused by Zaria’s annoyance. “Fake outrage,” He said while shaking his head dismissingly. “That’s what black women do these days. They sit around on social media and wait for something bad to happen so they can hear themselves complain and give each other style points for making snide little memes and sassy retweets. But the rage only lasts for a day or two and they move on to the next celebrity or public figure they want to be mad about. I’m a business owner, I don’t have time to worry about which celebrity we are supposed to be angry at this week. I live in the real world, not on the internet.” Zaria couldn’t believe the things Omar was saying to her. “Fake outrage? Boy, there ain’t a damn thing fake! I’ll tell you what? Mr. Powell, There is an anti-police brutality protest going on Saturday, I saw about it on IG. I’m going, how about you come with me and we see if the outrage is fake or not.” “Sorry. Saturday? Can’t do it.” Omar shot her down before she could even hardly part the words from her lips. “I didn’t even tell you what time!” “I have two cross-fit classes to teach and two personal training sessions on Saturday mornings. Unless this rally starts after 4pm, I’m gonna have to sit this one out.