Walking through the isles I grab a 1 dollar box of brownies thinking of my brother. He loves them gooey and meltie. I could never get them that way growing up but I still kept trying. Reminds me of the times I would wake up to my mothers screams in the middle of the night and how I’d rush down to see if she was ok. Or the times when I could tell my brothers spirit was deteriorating from our unfit living situation. He was the cook, so my food was never amazing, but seemed like he appreciated it. And when my mom wouldn’t leave her bed for days I would protest she get up. That it wasn’t healthy sleeping for days like that, but what did I know, I was just a kid who missed more then half the school year. She was resting from years of torment how could I be mad at her. I couldn’t. And while I fought for my mothers life at home, I fought for the entire black community at school. Which I often failed at because I was never prepared for that battle. I attended a school where people didn’t like me because my father was black. I often sat alone like every other misfit. But if it was just cuz I was weird, I could handle that. I’ve always been a weird kid. This time, it was cuz my father was black which was made clear in one of many statements like, “I didn’t like you because you were black.” I’m fine now, but I can feel the blood boil from the depths of my soul when the conversation comes back up. I’m healing now, everything is ok. So when Ares comes to prepare, I’ll calmly discuss with him that we aren’t there anymore. That he’s still needed just not in this situation. I hope he understands. But tonight, I’m making brownies and I’ve mastered the recipe, my brother would be so proud.

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