Part II: I have a dream

I was twelve when I saw the holy light for the first time.

There were a lot of people. Amid them, there was my family.
My mum was hung to my dad's neck. She was crying hard. Her tears were digging her eyes. Her eyes were shining like the fake jewels around her neck and she was shivering. She looked like a weirdo but actually, it was her way to express happiness.
My dad was smiling and crying in the same time.
I was sat in my old brother shoulders. So many people in the crowd and we were all watching him. One man enlightened by the sun.
Martin Luther King was speaking. His low and strong voice was shaking the trees and my ear drum. His word were written in my memory like inscriptions on stones. So many people in the crowd were touched and blessed. They were either crying or smiling or even both in the same time. Those words I would never forget. Those words so inked into myself. So clear and so bright.

“I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right there in Alabama, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.”

His world was an utopia. His world would never exist. It seemed so... Happy there. It was so clear and simple in his minds. I could have felt it. Like if as he spoke, he painted the gate to Wonderland. I could have raised my arm and maybe that I would have touched it.

So I cried. I cried in my brother's dark hair. I cried of hope. It was right there. The dream was drawn just in front of me. My brother talked. I don't know what he said, but I didn't care. I only wanted to cry harder but nothing came. I opened my eyes and I glanced at Martin Luther King. I glanced at my mum with her bright teeth. I glanced at my dad with his peaceful smile. I felt my brother sobbing and mumbling: we did it. "We did it. It's over now."
I glanced at very single people. They all hoped that it was over. They were wrong.

Author's Note

Hope you will enjoy. :)

Nana