Comic Feature by Mercury-Marvin Sunderland
I was twelve and barely knew who Trump was, but it was still disturbing.
I was twelve and barely knew who Trump was, but it was still disturbing.
I watched each day, until everything, save for one tall building in the middle of the block with doctors’ offices on the first floor, was rubble and dust.
Then the interrogation began. He described “vicious verbal violence,” with his interrogators screaming, swearing at him, 'You don’t preach Christianity, you preach shit.'
I couldn’t hear if the other men present said anything or whether they laughed; I was deaf to everything except the pulsing roar in my head.
As others try to warp my identity, it’s not always easy to feel that faith is a blessing.
I pondered Norma’s offer of salvation. Even if I believed in God, could I believe in one so spiteful, so churlish?
She gestured in the direction her friends had headed. 'That’s an expensive car full of black people.'
I sometimes forget that the most effective creative writing has nothing to do with schooling or publishing.
There is real joy in offering and receiving good will and in coming together despite our differences.
I don’t believe we get to pick and choose whose struggle for civil rights we align ourselves with.