Common Grounds and Various Teas | Black Writers Week

What can I do?

My Mom is the only altar I worship. Who do I ask to save him? My Tattle App buzzes an upcoming video call. I don’t know why I answered but I did.

“Auntie Wah,” I whispered.

“Aunt month, ”My aunt emphasized the correction. “Did they finish him?”

Mom kept fighting but-even if I tried to be optimistic-she lost. I shivered.

“Did they end him? ” Auntie Wata asked. “Not yet,” I said. I haven’t felt any fear yet but it’s in me now.

“Look at me,” his voice was hard. “The steamboat had no magic to get the Coyote and Spider in time. And John Henry’s hammer wasn’t strong enough. His spectral image got up and came out of my phone.” Help your mom. ”

“How?” I asked.

“The Oblits bound our tongues to wipe us out,” he said. “Tell his story so they don’t stumble upon him.”

“I don’t know his story.”

“Because you don’t listen, baby.” Auntie Wata sighed, “You were raised in our light but you didn’t see our light.” When I was silent, he said, “Do something! how WE–black, coffee, and gold-continue if we keep quiet? ”

Am I allowed to create my own stories, which are mine? I hadn’t thought of that before. But if I could …

I swipe to open a new Tattle story. Using a sketch I had drawn by Mom, I told my followers about a beautiful, legendary, wild -haired, badass, black rabbit from the South. The answer is immediate.

11 likes and the voice roared back into the shop. 8 comments and Mom’s laughter erupted from under the group of attackers.

1440 likes, 401 shares, 88 comments. Unwritten bodies were smashed against the walls. The tea will fly.

While my story was going viral, Mom was fighting from under The Oblits. Turning around, he cut the last line of attack. This time the confetti is a celebration.

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