In a small room sat a dark-skinned man with a broad face and strong features. He had a wide nose, full lips, and deep-set eyes that radiated both warmth and weariness. His short, cropped hair framed his face, and his expression was heavy, as though he were lost in deep thought.
"Ay, bruh, I'm 'bout outta grub. Gotta dip to the store and cop some essentials, ASAP," the man said with a weary sigh. Rising from his couch, he left his apartment.
As he walked toward the store, a man wearing a blue durag approached him. "Yo, George, peep this—we 'bout to hit another spot, cuh. You wit' it or nah?"
George paused briefly before shaking his head. "Nah, man, I ain't wit' that no more, cuh. Po-po's been on my tail, and I just got out on parole. I ain't tryna go back to the joint, feel me?" He dismissed the suggestion, quickening his pace and leaving the disappointed man behind.
After walking for over ten minutes, George arrived at the store. The bright lights illuminated the small space, where about ten customers were browsing. Behind the counter stood a white cashier, who was checking out a customer.
As George stepped inside, the cashier's expression shifted to one of unease. The tension in the air was palpable, but George ignored the stares and began picking out groceries and essentials. A few minutes later, he glanced toward the cashier, who, noticing his gaze, gave a hesitant nod. George returned the gesture before resuming his shopping.
However, his occasional glances to the left and right didn't go unnoticed. The cashier, aware of George's past history of shoplifting, became visibly alert. Without drawing attention to himself, the cashier discreetly picked up the phone and made a call.
Unaware of this, George proceeded to the counter, paid for his items, and exited the store. On his way back to his apartment, he heard the faint sound of police sirens in the distance. Dismissing it as unrelated to him, he kept walking, though the sound grew louder with each passing moment.
As George was crossing the road, a police car suddenly pulled up in front of him. A white police officer stepped out, his expression stern and unyielding.
"HALT! Immediately assume a prone position with your hands clasped behind your back. Do not move or resist!"
Momentarily confused, George hesitated before instinct took over. He lay face down on the ground, hands behind his back.
The officer approached cautiously, placing a knee firmly on George's back to restrain him. George began to feel discomfort.
"Yo, officer, what's goin' on? Ain't did nothin' wrong, cuh. I'm just tryna chill, mind my biz. Don't want no trouble, know what I'm sayin'? You ain't 'bout to take me in, is you?" George's words came out in a hurried breath, but his anxiety only grew as he felt his breathing become labored.
"I can't breathe!" he gasped, panic rising in his voice.
His pleas were ignored. The officer remained unmoved, the weight of his knee pressing harder.
"I can't breathe!" George repeated, louder this time, drawing the attention of bystanders. People began shouting at the officer, demanding that he let George go, but their cries were met with indifference.
George's vision darkened. His body weakened as oxygen failed to reach his lungs. "I can't... breathe..." he whispered one last time, his voice trailing off as his world faded to black.
By the time the officer finally released him, George had already departed from the world of the living, leaving behind silence, anger, and heartbreak.