(Trigger Warning: This story includes race-related violence/injustice themes. So due to this please read with caution if you are sensitive to this subject.)

Sidenote: All of what I have written is fiction, and is also based on small experiences and opinion.

My senior year of high school was almost over, May 15th, only a month of school left; then off to Columbia University! All my teachers at school were excited for me, especially my physics and biology teachers. “Columbia has such a great STEM program! That would be perfect for you!” and “That school has a great pre-med program! And Mount Sinai is so close!” they would say. They were so ecstatic that they even showed me their letters of recommendation they sent to Columbia about me! Oh, what a year it’ll be!

I found out about Columbia in December through early decision. I can just remember how my mother, father, and younger sister waited at the door for me to get home from school at 4 pm. I ran to the computer and speedily logged into my email. The apartment shook as I saw my acceptance email, and confetti flew up on the screen. We all cried tears of joy, and I got a full ride too! I would easily call that day the happiest in my life.

Moving onto today, it was a Saturday. After doing my morning routine of getting dressed, wearing a tee-shirt, shorts and a black hoodie (it was a little cold today), I brushed my teeth and got ready for the day. As my father made breakfast, I sat down on the sofa and watched the news, “Black Lives Matter peaceful protest turns violent.”

Apparently, in Chicago, some people from the protest started to loot stores, the image of rocks being thrown into a Starbucks coffee shop stuck with me. What bothered me about the news at this moment was how they grouped the violent offenders with the peaceful protestors, even when the organizers of the protests stated that these offenders were not part of the protest itself. I rolled my eyes to the back of my head thinking about all those people at my school who would say “All Lives Matter” in response to this incident. Did they ever go out and protest against all of the shootings that have been happening? I don’t think so.

Anyway, after breakfast, my mother who just woke up (As a lawyer she worked late nights) went to the fridge. “We’re out of milk and eggs,” she said. “Do you mind getting them today?” she asked me. In trying to help my parents around the house, I, of course, said “yes,” put on my shoes and walked to the door. I looked at my family before I left, my father doing the dishes, my little sister doing homework on the dining room table, and my mother making a PB&J sandwich. Then I went out.

The closest grocery store to us was the Whole Foods in Columbus Circle. It was a nice store, but I never liked going to this place, it always felt too fancy for me. Plus, I usually receive stares or wide eyes when I go to nice restaurants, museums, or just simply walking along 5th Avenue. But I was in a rush to get the milk and eggs since I had homework to do.

It drizzled earlier, so I had my hoodie on when walking. As I approached the circle, there were, like normal, policemen and their cars parked in front. Though police made me uncomfortable, especially when there weren’t any POC on the force. Whenever I was around police, I would always have my hands out of my pockets and tried to look the least suspicious as possible. It worked most of the time, but I could still always feel their eyes gazing upon me.

I stopped by the front of the doors of the mall since I felt my phone vibrate. As I took out my phone, I heard a scream and saw a woman pointing. She looked very frantic and was gesturing the police, yelling words I could not understand. The other people around me then started to back up in a circle formation, as though I repelled them. Then, beginning to panic, I left my phone in my pocket. I didn’t know what to do as the world became blurry around me. The police then took out their guns and pointed them at me, screaming words I could not understand.

My life then flashed before my eyes, with my mom helping me up from a fall when I was 5, to my father teaching me how to make rice, and lastly helping teach my little sister her ABC's in kindergarten. Then I saw my funeral, with my mother and father both crying on my coffin, and my little sister screaming for me to wake up, with my relatives having to hold her back. These images kept on flashing before my eyes, before and after. I knew that I wanted to live.

So, I put my hands above my head, because maybe the police would put their guns down. They did not and continued to shout unclear words to me. I looked to my left and to my right, watching how some were mad, giving me glares, some even spitting, to others crying, taking pity on me and seeing the injustice here. But then I saw a little girl stare at me, with no emotion, just standing there in silence, my little sister. I was her role model, and I was not going to stay alive just for myself, but for her too.

I then started to crouch to the ground slowly, and as I did, it got oddly quiet, the voices and screams disappearing. Time itself started to lag, as the people and all movement slowed more and more. As I was almost to the ground, to possibly safety, I heard a loud boom, and everything went pitch black.