Shawn peeked around the corner. Sweat covered his forehead and trickled off his hair and down his neck, plastering his white cotton T-shirt to his back and adding to the discomfort of the already humid April morning.
There didn't seem to be anybody in sight. Rather than being relieved, however, Shawn felt a slight sense of dismay. Although what he was attempting to do was illegal, and though he know that if he was caught the consequences could end up being fatal, he rather hoped someone would be around to catch him in the act, and hopefully shine a light on the town's plight for the Reverend.
Shaun's shadow was barely visible as he stealthily crept across the deserted lane, the sun shining directly above at a high noon angle. A receipt for the bottle of Coca-Cola he had purchased earlier in the morning crinkled in his pocket, the only sound, other than his second-hand Buster Brown loafers, to be heard, piercing the silent, stifling air.
As Shawn inched ever closer to his destination, a sense of dread and perturbation washed over him. Should he really be doing this? After all, his life could potentially be at stake if he was noticed. He was only twelve years old, had his whole life ahead of him. But then, the cause he was fighting for was justice, it was righteousness, it was an issue of simple humanity.
Shawn drew in a deep breath, almost choking on the oppression, both in the air and of his life. If he didn't do this, he would regret it. Not just today, but each and every day for the rest of his existence on this wonderful, horrible place called Earth.
Taking one last look around, and seeing nobody around but a car passing in the distance, he casually strolled up to the water fountain, bent down, and took a sip. The refreshing, hydrating taste of clean, crisp water shot up and hit him in the face like a shot, one he desperately needed on a day like today, and one that was a far cry from the lukewarm drink that dribbled from the fountain beside it, the one marked "colored."
The sound of ever-quickening steps shattered the placid calm of the morning, and of his thoughts. Shawn's heart began to beat faster and faster, almost in time with the clicking of the approaching shoes on the pavement. He forced himself to keep drinking, dreading yet anticipating the confrontation to come.
The sound of hurried footsteps abruptly came to a stop directly beside him. Shawn lifted his head from the cascading jet of water, and turned his focus towards the source of the sound. His gaze took in a pair of red high heel shoes, slowly rising to bring into view shapely legs the colour of mahogany, and a navy blue skirt held up by a red belt.
A sharp, painful sensation in his earlobe distracted him, interrupting his visual intake, and in no time at all, he was being cussed out by the beautiful woman in high heels.
"SHAWN!!!" his mother whispered loudly. "Are you in your right mind? Do you want to be killed? That's one sure way to go about it. You get home right this instant, son, and don't you ever let me catch you doing something like this ever again."
Feeling he was being overly chastised, Shawn belligerently replied, "I just wanted someone, anyone, to see this. To bring it to Dr. King's attention. I don't care who sees me. I'm sick and tired of being treated like I'm nobody."
"Well, you'll be no use to anybody dead, so pack yourself up as quick as you can. I will write to your uncle Martin. He can see you when he gets back from Birmingham, and we can discuss this then."
Postscript: In his "Letter From Birmingham Jail," Shawn's uncle Martin espoused in no uncertain terms his philosophy of direct action. Shawn was bolstered in his sense of righteousness, and continued to protest the injustices of the world long after President Johnson passed the Civil Rights Act of 1964, up until he was killed by bombs dropped by his own country in Haiphong in 1972.
This story was created using three keywords given to me by my best friend Keith: beautiful woman in high heels, water fountain, and receipt.
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