Numerous times black people had been (and still are ) sent to prison for crimes they hadn't committed all because they were black. Society perceived us as dangerous. If we were to be arrested for crimes we didn't commit, we were arrested harshly with force. Yet the whites were taken away peacefully.

Khalil's story was different. He had committed no crime though they said he was a suspect for a crime. He had just got out of his car when the police officers stopped him after having followed us for closely five minutes with their car siren buzzing loudly. They had asked for his papers after shouting at him and calling him a criminal. Khalil had tried to calmly tell them he was innocent but they were insistent he showed them his papers. Khalil had then reached into the car telling me a small joke as he pulled out his papers. Maybe the mistake Khalil did was pull out his black leather covered notepad first that was on the driver seat before reaching for the papers.

Maybe.

Because the smile disappeared. The environment went silent as the echoes of the officers' guns that had gone off filled the place. Khalil fell back hitting the ground. In that moment,  I screamed. I ran out of the car towards my brother. My eyes already filled with tears. I reached him and held his head as he breathed his last while I watched his blood stain his shirt.
By now people had gathered around us. Most of them angry and screaming. The officers were now standing by me as if telling me to keep quiet. But I was not going to be quiet.

Khalil's fire was now in me.

"Kara, I'm dying but fight for me."

Those were his last words.