The 7th

"Welcome to district number 7, the house of pain...cause this is gonna be a pain in your ass if you don't like black folks....and by the redness of your faces I ain't far off the mark.  Oh by the way...the welcome wagon that just left here that's sergeant Richards and he's got an intolerance for intolerance.  I take it that that's how you all ended up down here in the shit hole," said Byron Shields with a broad grin.

"Look buddy...it was just an overtime detail...what's the big deal."

"The big deal is the shit hitting the fan big time," Ron said with his feet propped up leaning back in a chair that groaned beneath his weight.  Byron Shields nick named Ron the 6-year vet had dreams of becoming a stand up comedian; comic relief was his goal until the hands of fate turned his life in another direction.  His father’s unfortunate death left his family in dire need.  Raised to be self-sufficient and responsible he assumed the responsibilities of being the provider in the house stepping into his father’s shoes in his early twenties.  He possessed the face of a teenager, and that’s where his co-workers made their mistake of underestimating him.  Most times, they were made an example of by a serious tongue-lashing that was equivalent to Red fox or Richard Pryor harassing their audiences.

 "I See you white boys cutting your eyes at me...don't be hating because you fucked up on TV."

"Ron...shut- the-hell- up," said a soft voice by the window attempting to suppress a laugh, “don’t nobody wanna here your bull shit early in the morning."

"Yeah man...it's too early for your shit," another sleepy voice responded.

"Aw you just mad because you can't live at the gym...ya Shaka Zulu looking-" 

The door swung open with the Richards returning to the podium.  The frown on his face automatically announced bad news.  "Aw man...here we go," mumbled Wade Jackson, "guess I ain't getting to the gym today either...damn."

 Richards stood there momentarily thinking to himself how to be the bearer of bad news, but he knew there was no way around it, "ok it's been brought to my attention that extra coverage is needed on the South end...as per captain's orders we are to cover that area until further notice"

"With what?  We're already stretched like a rubber band," Jackson said letting out a sigh.

"We're just gonna have to make do...like the chief says do more with less."

"Yeah but he ain't out here making do is he?"

"Look Jackson don't piss on my already bad day...you wanna stay in this piss hole...huh...bad plumbing, bad electrical.  Fucking crack heads running around messing around with your vehicles.  I don't know about you, but I'm tired of having to crack skulls on the way off duty.  Look it's a huge construction sight with a lot of building materials laying around."

"They need to secure their shit then," said a salty female voice from the rear of the room.

"Don't start with me Max," he said glaring at the 19-year vet.

"Look I know it's a lot but the higher ups thought with so much controversy around the site It'd be a good idea to have some extra man power around it, not to mention we'd be more familiar in that location when we do relocate."  The tension in the room seemed to lighten at the mention of relocating.

 "New guys...my office...the rest of you know the drill.  Be safe stay safe, and make it home safe."  Clearly offended by the black sergeant’s commanding and take-charge attitude the newly transferred cops felt a well of collective hate against the seasoned sergeant rising up threatening to spill over.  Their eyes could not help but to express their contempt in taking orders from him.  As the others were leaving out for their daily patrol assignments Sierra Sheldon happen to glance back; feeling eyes on her back she noticed the cold and steely stare coming from the newly reassigned transferred Jim Wagner.  She held his stare until he looked away.  "What the hell is his problem," she said feeling an uncomfortable familiarity about him.  There was something she disliked about him that went back further then the fiasco the day before.  “Creep."

"Com'on woman...wha'cha dragging for...its coffee time," Jackson said tugging at her shirtsleeve.

"Alright...alright...I'm coming," she said to her partner of the last 18 months.  Outside the sun had begun to rise up over the horizon.  The cruisers began surging their way to life as officers with clipboards seated themselves in vehicles with mileages that could write a book telling stories the average person could not begin to imagine.  Sierra and Jackson have witnessed more unusual and bizarre incidents in their short careers then the average person would see in a lifetime.

Jackson sat behind the wheel; his young face etched in the concentration of the thoughts that saturated his mind.  "Yo ...what's up with the day dreaming," Sierra asked as she started the daily patrol log, starting with the vehicle’s mileage, "hey I thought you were in a rush for your caffeine fix?"

"Ya know something...there's something about them white boys...can’t put my finger on it, but for some reason I don't trust'em, and I don't lik’em...don’t ask me why I just don't."

"Duuuuh maybe because they don't like people like us...ya think?"

"No...  Besides that.  It's something that just ain't right.  They just got here and already I can't stand'em...ya know...just forget it I'm probably just tripping."

"Well can we trip over to the dinner and get some coffee before the bullshit starts?  I'll put us in service in ten minutes...so com'on already."

***

Samuel Richards sat behind a cluttered desk full of memos, directives, incident reports ,patrol logs, overtime sheets, and a ringing phone; agitated and annoyed he answered, "7th....Richards," he said exasperated, "ok let me check I'm gonna put you on hold," he said stabbing at the red button and slamming down the receiver.  "God damn it give me a break," he said  hanging up from the phone eyeing the three patrolmen including the sergeant; again a strange and unpleasant feeling emerged as the four gazed back at him waiting for him to brief them so they could belittle him in the privacy of closed doors.

"Four re-assignments why do I get all the...never mind," he thought to himself looking over the files on his desk.  "Edwards...when did you make rank?"

"About a mouth now."

"An you’re down here in the shit already...who'd ya manage to piss off?"  The man's face turned beet red as the senior sergeant eyed him sensing the man's resentment.

"You're gonna be holding things down as the relief supervisor when I'm not here so I suggest you get familiar with the system here.  We got a way of doing things here in the 7th, so you can throw all that other crap out the window.”  Edwards felt like an open book swallowing hard before speaking, "there was a misunderstanding that's all."

"That's not what I'm reading here...if you're trying to make a name for yourself here to take back to your good ol boys club I strongly suggest you don't...AM I clear?"

"Crystal."

"Fine the other side of the squad room through the double doors to the right set up shop....desk, locker, phone...all waiting for ya.  I'll be there in a minute to get you computer access.” 

Still steaming Edwards turned without responding as animosity and resentment coiled around him like a snake; having to answer to a black man only stoked the already burning anger.  "What was the department coming to," he thought to himself as he turned the doorknob to the small office that seemed barely large enough for a desk let along two.  Richards failed to mention he would be sharing the space with Sergeant E. Michaels.  Briefcase in hand he stared at the other desk in its neatly maintained area free of dust, file bens neatly stacked with other office supplies housed by a more modern desk compared to his.  Edwards looked over to the area that was to be his space.  The almost antique wooden desk covered in dust, old paint cans, brushes, and dirty rags made his blood boil keeping his face a constant shade of deep red.

“Oh I see you found your desk and everything ok I’ll get the janitor to get it cleaned up for ya," the corporal said holding back a snicker, "oh…the captain wants you to come and sign for your training date," the corporal’s heavily Latino accented voice said.  Shaking with anger he never turned around to face the corporal, and continued to speak with his back turned, "what training?"

"Oh they didn't tell you... anger management and diversity training," he said closing the door.  To add insult to injury not only was it embarrassing to him having his good ol boys see him tossed down to what he considered the slums; now he had to be told how to properly interact with those he considered beneath him.  "Damn it," could the day get any worse he thought to himself.

Back in Richards's office, the remaining three grew anxious; not knowing their fate; being re-assigned to a predominately-mixed community.

 "You three hold tight for a minute," Richards said getting up from his desk looking out the window into the parking lot," SONUVABITCH," he growled jetting out of the office leaving the three bewildered, moments later loud shouting could be heard from the window.  The three went to the open window to see what the commotion was.

"Get the hell outta this god damned lot before I crack your crack head ass skull,” he shouted to an individual dressed in winter clothing in the middle of summer.  The layers of dirt made it hard to distinguish the man's racial identity

"Ooooh if it isn't one of my missing slaves."

"Get your crazy ass up outta here," Richards bellowed loud enough for it to be heard by anyone in the area.  "Oh shit is this what we got to look forward to; working down here in the 7^th," Halaski asked looking at the others in disgust.

"What the hell is that?”  Barnes was horrified at the man's appearance.

"The hell if I know...I can't tell...it's a dirty bastard...I know that much."

"It's a crazy ass ...an I betcha there's a whole lot more of'em out there," Halaski said smirking

"Damn spades out there and in here...I'll be damned...if my great great grand daddy was alive this shit would kill'em for sure."

"Yeah well he's probably turning in his grave like the rest of our dead kin.  Damned hood coons in charge of shit...I'll be damned if I didn't have to...

"Ok everybody back to business," the sergeant said entering back into the office rubbing his knuckles. 

"What was that about," Wagner asked.

"Listen up...out here...watch your vehicles when ya work mid nights...that white boy out there has been known to try vandalize our cars...locked'em up a dozen times... stunk up the place to high heavens...couldn't get the smell out for weeks.  So now when we see'em around our cars we just tune'em up an he's on his merry way; real nut job...thinks he's in the 18th century...in colonial times... back on some plantation. I got his god damned slave alright," Richards growled.

"He's a white man," the three said in unison shocked and appalled. 

I hope you have enjoyed Another reality written for your 3rd eye where fact sounds like fiction and fiction sounds like fact

This was an excerpt from the 5 book series "To Resurrect and Avenge" 

now available at amazon.com   http://astore.amazon.com/wwwicosochch-20

The Metal Threat

Down town pandemonium erupted as metal crashing against metal sent screams into the air as bodies scattered fleeing from the 50-ton bulldozer that had seemed to have developed a mind of its own as it rammed unsuspecting vehicles and caused massive damage to parked cars, and oncoming traffic.  An over turned minivan lay on its side pushed against a fire hydrant; the geyser of water added to the already chaotic and frenzied scene with mounting confusion.  Several vehicles disabled by the rampaging construction vehicle made it difficult for emergency responders to get into the area; therefore the metal menace continued on its destructive reign crashing into anything that lie in its path.  Plate glass windows shattered as flying debris stabbed through the glass injuring the customers of stores, shops, and grocers.  Personal belongings littered the sidewalks and street.  Twisted metal signs laid across parked cars pushed up against one another while the driver of the bulldozer shifted to reverse backing over dozens of bicycles.  Terrified screaming pedestrians scrabbled to get out of the way.  Suddenly the bulldozer shifted forward pushing over a traffic light.  Sparks flickered as it leaned in an awkward angle before crashing down to the street sending puffs of smoke into the air.  Several people remained trapped in mangled vehicles.  Anguished cries for help only egged the bulldozer on as it plowed into more vehicles.  One vehicle’s window was smeared with blood. 

Several attempts made by pedestrians to jump on to the bull Dozier to remove the operator failed; confronting  what sat behind the controls of the machine was an affront to nature.  Something that possessed a human body sat behind the controls, but its eyes gave the appearance of something unearthly, as the eyes were void of life in their sockets glaring out at the horrified.  A young man who leaped onto the metal menace in an attempt to dislodge the operator made another attempt.  Shock and disbelief had frozen him in place.  A cold stone like hand lightning fast grabbed the man's throat like a vice.  For that short period, the young man literally looked into the face of death before being flung from the bulldozer.  Again, the machine backed up from mangled metal and turned to ram an approaching police car that had managed to circumvent the mass of tangled wreckage by jumping the curb driving down the sidewalk.  "Wha'da fuck...this is unit 22 on 3rd and Bakersfield road...I got a priority.  Oh my god-” The bulldozer’s huge metal scoop crashed down on the top of the cruiser after ramming it with unnatural speed.  Glass exploded everywhere striking pedestrians and emergency responders.  Horrified on lookers watched as the vehicle looked as though it were being pushed into the ground taking the cop inside with it despite the rounds fired in a futile attempt to stop and unstoppable foe.  His screams died away under the commotion of the screaming pedestrians. In the distance, more sirens could be heard approaching the catastrophic scene as dispatchers shouted for additional units.

"Oh shit did you hear that," she said in mid stride returning to the cruiser with Jackson on her heels, and his ear almost glued to the radio's speaker.  Jumping into the cruiser Jackson flipped the switch for the blue strobe lights and sirens.  "Something real ugly is going on," she said reaching for the radio's mic to respond as the cruiser's tires screeched around the corner almost on two wheels.  "Damn don't get us smashed up before we get there."

"I got this," Jackson replied concentrating on the traffic ahead to avoid any vehicles slow to move from the cruisers right of way. An air horn accompanied the flashing lights and sirens aggressively signaling the cruiser’s immediate approach, and to make way.  "MOVE damn it...don't you hear all this shit?"

"They hear...they think their gonna get a case if we hit'em."

"Yeah they gonna get more than a case...stupid sonuvabitches gonna get dead with all this metal running up their dumb asses."

"All units approaching the vicinity of 3rd and Bakersfield Road exercise extreme caution individual armed with a bulldozer one unit down with pedestrian casualties," the radio blared a second time.  A block and a half away and the chaos could be seen.

"Oh shit," Sierra said staring at the massive pile up of cars and trucks scattered around looking as if they had been dropped from the sky surrounding the bulldozer.

"We're gonna have to foot it...this is as close as we're going to get," Jackson said glancing up at the news helicopters that had joined the grim scene.  The bulldozers engine roared as its operator gunned the accelerator.  To the far left, the smashed cruiser seemed to beckon to the cops.  "Shit...we gotta get to that car."  Seconds later, more of the 7th district cars pulled up as close as they could to the scene.  The injured were removed from the area while cops attempted to proceed to the cruiser mangled beyond recognition, but with lightning speed, the bulldozer maneuvered itself in their direction preparing to ram them; chasing them back behind the wreckage of the other cars.  Again, they tried from another angle careful not to alert its operator.  A hushed crowd waited in anticipation.   Only the roar of the bulldozer’s engine dominated the ground below while helicopters hovered overhead adding to the urgency of the scene.  Closer the men and women in blue crept; cuffs and keys held in place in an attempt in silencing the clink of metal.  Radios were turned completely down, and breaths were held.  Sierra swallowed hard not knowing what she would be greeted with once she approached the mangled wreckage.  "RUN," a voice shouted out.  The swift turn of the bulldozer’s scoop almost caught Jackson as he dove out of the way.  Hot asphalt biting into his hands and knees caused a string of curses to erupt from his mouth.  "Yo man...you ok," a firefighter asked helping him from the ground.  Soon police supervisors were on location setting up their command center.  The intersection was now gridlocked; a standoff between cops and machine filled the atmosphere with eeriness.  Despite the open view of the bulldozer, its operator’s identity remained a mystery.  The only person that saw him was unconscious.

 "What the hell is this," barked lieutenant George Morison while cops and firefighters were desperately trying to devise a plan of rescue. Not knowing the cop's condition made everyone anxious.  "Has anyone heard a radio contact from him?  What is his status...is he dead, alive...what, and what the hell is in the driver's seat...and why can't we get the SONUVABITCH outta there?  What the hell are all of you standing around for," the lieutenant snarled through gritted teeth looking around at the chaos," get these civilians outta here!"

"Sir...their here because ...well...they can't leave...just yet."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because these are all their vehicles and they’re witnesses," the sergeant said pointing around to the wreckage of cars becoming more and more exasperated by the second; with all the questions he had to stop and answer while his men were trying to reach the trapped cop.    “Asshole," the sergeant thought to himself walking away.  "Sergeant...get a paramedic up here...we gotta get that cop outta there; that's if he's even still alive."

"Sir...we gotta get him cut outta there first of all and second; the sonuvabitch won't even let us get close to him... let alone get a paramedic in there," he said growing angry.

"You better get somebody to go in there and get that man outta there," Morrison called after him as the sergeant continued to ignore his demands.  "Damn asshole with fucking gold bars."

"Hey Serg the only way I see to fix this problem is to get a clean shot in...maybe we can nick'em...slow'em down," Jackson said with Sierra nodding in agreement.  "It's gonna take to long to get sharp shooters down here; swat's on the other side of the city on a job at a drug house."

"Why can't we do it," a southern drawn voice said coming from behind them, "I can hit that ass from fifty yards," she said turning all the attention to herself.  Standing there 5 ft 10, 170 lbs, and solid mass the 19-year veteran from Sheldon South Carolina unsnapped her holster.  "Now just wait a minute Max the department is still on the hot seat from the last shooting," the lieutenant said, and then all of a sudden the bulldozer that had been sitting motionless roared to life turning in their direction.  "Oh shit."

 A floored accelerator marked the four of them to be the next target.  Scrambling for their lives with hats, nightsticks and handcuffs flying in numerous directions they barely escaped the deadly menace.  "That's it I'm gonna pop that wild cat," she said drawing her 9 mm from her holster from behind an over turned truck where they had taken cover.  Three consecutive shots rang out stunning everyone the operator of the bulldozer fell limp slumping over the controls. 

"You got'em...damn woman...you da shit," Jackson said in awe.

"Good shoot Max.  OK...let’s go check out what we got here," the sergeant said, but no sooner than he could turn around criticism reared its ugly head, "cease fire god damn it who fired their weapon?"

"Max did sir...she took out the threat."

"That was an unarmed civilian!!!!"

"I beg your pardon sir but that unarmed civilian was armed with a fucking bulldozer trying to ram us," she said fuming, "I used the necessary force needed to stop the immediate threat SIR," she bellowed out standing toe to toe with the lieutenant; un-intimidated by the man's rank.  Jackson and Sierra stood off to the side watching in total disbelief before they joined the others in attempting to free the cop from the mangled cruiser.

"Morrison's an asshole all week," Sierra said clearing away some of the debris.

"Yeah SONUVABITCH coulda at least taking a day off from being an asshole today," Jackson responded.

"That's what you get when ya only think about your own ass...I guess.  What a dick head." 

Finally Morrison stopped arguing with the seasoned street cop; realizing he was getting nowhere.  "Officer I want a use of deadly force report before the end of your shift."

"Fine...it beats being dead," she snapped walking away.  Feeling defeated frustrated and embarrassed Morrison looked for another outlet to vent on; walking over to cops, firefighters, and medics working diligently to free the cop from the mangled cruiser, "I want this mess cleaned up ASAP."  For a minute, everyone stopped and looked at the police supervisor as if he had two heads and went back to working.  The sergeant stepped away from the cruiser wiping sweat from his face, "We can't do that sir...not right now anyway."

"And why's that sergeant?"

"Sir this is a crime scene."

Thanks for taking the time to visit Another reality.  I hope you enjoyed this excerpt from the 

Cultural-Sy novel To Resurrect & Avenge Book one. You can visit me at  

www.wix.com/soyinkaiyabo/chaoschronicals
also available at amazon

The Desecration

On a cloudy and overcast day at what appeared to be blocks of empty vacant land and a neighboring cemetery tension and malice loomed overhead. A frustrated crowd standing along Rosa Parks Boulevard fed up with bureaucratic red tape, and dishonest politicians who constantly took advantage of the underprivileged for their own means stood by restlessly watching and waiting to see what additional propaganda would be propagated before the community and media in a small parish on the out skirts of Monroe Louisiana. 

A history of false truths seemed to have paved the way for inequality in housing, job availability and a soaring crime rate accompanied by a ruthless police force with a pension for excessive force.  A failing health care system spawned over crowded hospitals with insensitive doctors, nurses, and staff that set the stage for malpractice suits that drug in an out of corrupt courts while lives were ruined or lost.  Now the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back set in motion the second largest protest since the civil rights era almost sixty years ago was now in full swing.  The desecration of a 18th century Negro cemetery connecting to the Underground Railroad outraged and appalled the community. Heightened emotions flooded the city making not only local news, but national and international news as well.  News van after news van crammed into the parking accommodations provided for them while police stood by eagerly awaiting the opportunity to ticket and tow the media covering such a historical event that would eventually expose illegal and corrupt activities between politicians, police and land developers.

"400 hundred years...what more can they do to us...that they haven’t done already," the woman's magnified voice boomed through a megaphone standing in the path of a bulldozer.  A dozen cameras zoomed in on her with boom mics extended capturing every word.

 "They have stolen this land the same way they have stolen from the red people.  They have killed us and we have returned through the next generation...they have killed us again and we return in the following generation.  What is there to fear?  They have killed off our leaders, but their spirits are with us by way of the ancestors.  They have already taken from you...what more do you have to lose," she said continuing to inspire and excite her fellow protesters as more joined the ranks. 

"Sisters and brothers there is blood in the land we stand on.  The memory of our ancestors along with their remains lies in this ground.  We must respect their burial grounds.  Have they not given their blood...their sweat and tears in for this soil?"

"That's right our ancestors deserve better...the right to rest in peace," a man's voice shouted as he chained himself to another, and that person to another all linking themselves together combing flesh, and steel as their ancestors had been aboard slave ships. 

"You will no longer desecrate the remains of our ancestors or defile the ground in which they rest in," another woman shouted. 

The crowd gathered around the construction vehicles blocking their way to do any further damage to the cemetery.  "This is a historic site that must be preserved it has that right," she said. 

Eeriness lingered in the air. Illegally exhumed graves revealing decrepit wooden boxes containing the remains of the dead and up rooted trees created a dark atmosphere of malice. 

The University's forensic archaeologist department had already inspected, and carbon dated the site reaching the conclusion that the remains were more than three hundred years old, and of West African ancestry, and recommended preservation of the site.  Professor Moreni Ngosi head Louisiana State University of the department of anthropology stood by watching the events unfolding before her eyes wondering when the police's patience would wear thin with the obstruction of their new police administration complex;  a site that had become real estate for the taking. Adjoining row houses to the cemetery where so many were forced or swindled out of their homes by developers years prior to the present event contributed to the community’s resentment.  Moreni Ngosi continued watching the smug expressions of those in blue.  A look of contempt blanketed their faces as the speaker continued to spew out venomous, but accurate comments in regards to African descendants' turbulent history since coming in contact with whites at home and abroad.  Her words were like a double-edged blade cutting indiscriminately.  Professor Ngosi knew the young woman spoke the truth, even in Nigeria the African American's history was a sensitive topic.  She feared for the young woman's life. 

"How long do we have to listen to these porch monkeys," she overheard a cop say to his partner.

"Until we get the word...alright so stop your freaking wining."

"Well it would be nice to have a new H.Q. instead of that piss hole for a district house," he said as the two leaned against the cruiser with folded arms across their chest like the rest of their co-workers the majority being white; their black counter parts reassigned to lesser details.

 Despite the hot and humid temperatures she could not help but feel an icy chill in the air; the mounting tension from the police and the growing frustration from the community created all the makings for a violent out come.  “The university's board of directors could pull the plug on the project at any given time; depending on the politics," she thought to herself.

"Hey professor Ngosi," a voice said shaking her from her thoughts; turning around she saw Officer Sierra Sheldon a seven  year veteran that earned her reputation as a female Malcolm X and Angela Davis all rolled in one; a intelligent, assertive and conscious police officer.  She withstood the onslaught of racism and sexism like a damn holding back a river of ignorance from patrolmen to supervisors; intelligently putting them all in place.  Her first year was equivalent to hurricane Hazel.  One visit to a Lukumi root woman, and a Harvard University educated attorney resulted in a lucrative law suit against the department with three patrol officers and supervisor terminated extinguished any further harassment and a hands off policy.  Sierra Sheldon pretty much came and went as she pleased. 

"Well...look who it is...my favorite cop."

"Yo what’s up girlfriend?"

"I am so glad to see you ...I tell ya your co-workers make me nervous.  Is it necessary for them to be so...I don't even know the words for it?"

"You mean racist," Sierra laughed.  Without warning, her radio crackled with the dispatcher's voice interrupting them.  "Excuse me," she said sensing something about to take place.  An uncomfortable feeling settled down in her stomach.  "Hey...it looks like it's about to get ugly out here...you might wanna roll; a dispatch just came down from the chief...they want the crowd dispersed."
The loud boisterous command echoed with intimidation and hostility coating each word.

"You are to immediately disperse from the area or be arrested."  In less than thirty seconds police were donning gas mask. 

"I'm going back to the lecture hall where I belong.  I'll talk to you later be safe Sierra," she said heading for her vehicle,” let me know how everything turns out…you know how the media likes to edit out the truth."

"Oh I know that’s right, it's not gonna be a walk in the park...I'll tell ya that much," Sierra said looking at the vulnerable houses in the distance knowing how far the wind can carry the air born irritants.  It was summertime and most poor people did not have air conditioning which meant being trapped inside a hot box or choking on tear gas deployed in a densely populated area.  She knew how cruel those could be tossing tear gas canisters into and beyond the crowd knowing the wind could pick up at any given time.  "This is bull shit...they ain't gotta go there like that," she said while donning her mask.  The first canister popped rolling toward the protesters that were already dispersing the area.  The bluish white smoke sprayed out, and then pandemonium broke out as protesters and on lookers made a run for it as stinging eyes impaired their vision.  Some blinded by the gas ran headlong into police wheedling plexi-glass shields.  Instantly extendable batons dropped helpless protesters to the ground where boots found their way to torsos and other exposed body parts.  Spurting blood sprayed the ground as cries of agony rang out in the air.  Screaming women hysterical over children falling under the shields of the police as they tried to flee drew news cameras to film cruelty fueled by anger over the activist’s words of truth.  Even through the tear gas and chaos, the woman's words continued through the megaphone cutting like hot blades through butter.  Sierra was amazed at how the young woman had managed to evade the blows of the batons and continue her fiery speech; now flagrantly criticizing the boys in blue referring to them as closeted white sheet wearing Klan descendants; infuriating them further.

 "Yo what are you doing," Sierra yelled watching a co-worker unsnapping the holster of his weapon.  She caught his arm in a deadly death grip," there's no need for that...they're just trying to get away from the gas."  When the two looked up a host of cameras were rolling film  with lightning speed her hand reached up and snatched the officer's mask off his face in front of the cameras.

"COWARD hiding behind a mask and badge like the Klan did with our ancestors hundreds of years ago,” said the angry voice through the megaphone.

"Fuck," the exposed cop growled trying to hide his face; caught in the act of drawing his weapon on an unarmed man overcome with tear gas.  Sierra quickly lost herself within the crowd rendering assistance along with the medics that had finally arrived at her request.  As the gas began to dissipate so did the commotion as most of the protesters had managed to flee, but not un-scaved.  However, there were those who bravely fought back and were either hospitalized and or arrested, but to Sierra’s surprise, there was no sight of the outspoken young woman activist despite checking all the police wagons there was no hide nor hair of her.  "I'll be damned," she said to herself feeling perplexed and bewildered lost in her thoughts.  "Hey buddy...what’s ups...it was a real bitch out there with that full moon...got these Klan boys off the chain.  I knew I shoulda stayed the hell home."

"No shit...did you see that shit?"

"No what?"

"Fucking Wagner...that bitch was ready to shoot somebody," she said leaning over whispering, "I had to stop his dumb ass; snatched his mask off right in front of the cameras...dumb ass didn’t know it was me.  Two can play at those games," she said laughing as the two slapped five.  The area began to clear out as news vans and choppers returned to their news rooms; with the latest on how the city's finest conducted themselves at a civil  protest; an already bad reputation hung over the department like a dark storm cloud.  Now an officer's face featured on the evening news in the process of drawing his service weapon on a helpless protester created a continuation of open hostility, and criticism toward the department and not excluding the mayor’s office.  Overwhelmed the mayor's secretary and administration assistants were bombarded with incoming calls from City Council members to State Reps.  The phones never ceased ringing.  The press congregated outside the prestigious office with cameras and microphones at the ready.  The hallways remained congested as security struggled with distinguishing press from average citizens who had come to complain about the fiasco.

I hope you enjoyed an excerpt from "To Resurrect & Avenge"  written with with consciousness in mind.  Another reality continues to keep your 3rd eye fed with thought provoking articles and speculative and historic fiction.  To read more visit www.wix.com/soyinkaiyabo/chaoschronicals