A history of sin, against your brothers, against your kin. It washes over you, grips your heart and begs you to repent, to amend, for the past evils that you lament, for the blood of color that you have spent.
Golden towers of infinite luxury, lavish palaces of jewels, line the cities of the West, but underneath lies a chest, of broken bones, of blood and tears.
You hear a chorus of cries, a million voices of desperation, begging you to hear them, begging you to see their pain, to feel their sadness. The voices cry louder, howling a haunting chant of grief and sorrow.
You cannot take it any longer. You look around yourself with renewed vision, and observe the world for what it is. You freeze and gasp at the horror of what you see. Piggish Neanderthals in business suits roaming the uptown cities, smirking as they stamp over the remains of crushed souls. The children of those crushed souls wallowing aimlessly, consumed by the rage and hopelessness of their ancestors.
You see it now, how privileged you are. The guilt washes over you like an electric shock, paralyzing you, devastating your sense of pride. Defeated, you stammer and struggle to utter the words … “so … so … sorry”.