As curfew falls on this Baltimore city street, day-old ashes gather on her apartment windowsill. Yesterday riots canceled school, and nixed her two free meals, so at ten till 10 only nervous energy fills Lil’ Lucy’s empty belly.
But the dreams are charred in the Comeback City…
All day long, Mr. Freddie’s face kept flickering and flashing on the cracked TV screen. In her 6-year-old mind, he was a ghost. Lil’ Lucy remembered, Mr. Freddie passing her at the busstop.
But this was not a dream. Ol’ Grandma sat transfixed before the cracked screen, and every ten minutes she’d cry out, “I remember. I remember…” Momma’s desperate eyes searched the shadows beyond the paned glass and prayed softly that her only son could dodge the armament and make it home alive from the nightshift.
In this waking nightmare, Lil’ Lucy curled up on the threadbare couch, pressed her eyes together tightly and imagined a bright sunny morning with a smile on her mother’s face.
This story would change if we could see #lillucy.
We now return to our regularly scheduled broadcast….