Jamie woke up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Hastily shuffling around the house, he quickly ate a poorly made bowl of cereal. He had woken up late and his friends had began with out him. Slipping on his shoes, he yelled a goodbye to his mother sitting on her couch. The day didn't feel any different. The breeze still carried it's warm air, the birds still chirped their gleeful song, and Jamie was still beating his friends at every game they played. None of them knew of the disaster to come. Suddenly, a wail came from one of the surrounding houses. Doors from houses all up and down the street flailed open. Mothers spent the next twenty minutes grabbing their children and dragging them back inside. The day seemed to drag on as Jamie sat in his living room watching his parents cry and pace around his house. Being twelve, his parents decided he was old enough to know the truth. After they finished talking, Jamie was outraged. Not mad at the at the other race. Not even mad at Martin Luther for being so careless, like so many others were. He was mad at the overwhelming hate. The hate that was omnipresent in their times. The hate that could drive someone to do such a repulsive thing to someone just because of their skin color. The rest of the night was filled with careful peeks outside their living room window. Acts of violence broke out all night as cars carrying white passengers drove down the streets. The young boy sat in his chair by the window, scared that the world would never return to the life he had grown accustomed to. The life spent with him and his friends playing peacefully outside. The life he had grown to love.