Black Power: The Book of Akhet

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, May 10, 1985, 7:00 a.m. EST. 

On a beautiful Philadelphia day in May 1985, two cultures clashed, and a burgeoning David would be crushed by an ancient Goliath, created centuries before, to kill him. 

The police surrounded them in concentric circles. From the sky, they looked like a target with the fortified house at the center. They had sharpshooters on the outer ring and a mixture of crack shots and machine gunners on the middle ring, and the explosive specialists occupied the closest ring. The police filled the immediate area of the house with C.S. gas as the fire department sprayed the house with four separate deluge hoses, raising the area’s humidity and obscuring the vision of the presumed armed men in the roof fortification. 

The house sheltered sixteen people, half of whom cowered in the basement.  Sharp anger and general fear boiled in the house, and there was nowhere to go. 

They called themselves Progress. The exhaustion of hiding and skulking in the shadows of society wore on them, so they decided not to hide. The abilities they manifested were limited and insignificant in the grand scheme of things. But more people feared what they could do than those who accepted them. 

Being helpful in the neighborhood used to be enough; however, over the last decade or so, as Black people created their own working-class communities, they glimpsed what many perceived as a light at the end of a nearly 400-year-long tunnel of horrors. Anything that disrupted the freedom boat, held together by their forebears' blood, sweat, and flesh, proved antithetical to their survival. 

This hope-fulfilled generation excised any subgroup that might make Black people any more of an outsider than they already were. Even if that subgroup made things move or grow. Some of the more conservative pastors even preached whole sermons against the witchcraft of the Outsiders. The side eyes and whispers spread swiftly. They did what any good American would do when someone disturbed the peace. They called the police, and the anonymous calls trickled in at first, then, as the months passed, poured in. Soon larger and more dangerous predators took notice of the small Philadelphian Community. 

A few hours before smoke and blood marred the morning, a young girl named Sunrose opened her golden eyes. She greeted the morning with a smile that was bright and infectious. She immediately detected the tumultuous emotions in the house. Tumultuous was a new word she learned, and she loved the images it conjured in her mind. She looked down at her hands where a pink swirl of raw, psionic energy formed in the palm of her young hand. Sunrose giggled to herself, and one of the rushing adults saw her manifestation. She stopped and smiled at the young girl. 

“That’s beautiful, Sunrose, impressive control. You’re showing incredible growth. Go catch up with the other children and have breakfast.” Ramona stood up, gave Sunrose a smile haloed by thick black locks, and faded into the house’s bustle. 

Sunrose, being the obedient seven-year-old, sprinted happily to the dining area which turned out to be empty. 

She stopped and instinctively reached out with her mind to find her siblings. They were all downstairs having breakfast; their familiar emotes bright to her inner eye. Phasing through the floor easily she dropped onto the table, startling everyone eating. One of her tiny feet landed in someone’s oatmeal, it squished warmly between her toes, and she laughed at the sensation. However, giggles turned to tears as the others yelled and screamed at her. Someone grabbed her roughly from the table. Why was everyone so angry? 

Sunrose sat and ate her food in silence, listening to the older kids speculate on what was happening. They waved their arms and clenched their fists, but they did not eat. Realizing all at once that they weren’t hungry, they started cleaning. Sunrose helped as best she could. When she expressed excitement about going outside to play with the animals, the adults told her there would be no outside today. She was sad at first until they were told they could play with the new puppies that had been born a week or so ago. That was fun. 

As the morning progressed, Sunrose heard the big people yelling more and more, on loudspeakers like they were talking to someone outside. She figured the neighbors were yelling mean things again. Then a sharp stab of fear lanced her little heart, and an awful feeling of dread about the day darted through her mind. Dread was one of her spelling words and she knew what it meant. 

The sound of the air being zippered apart shattered the quiet. An adult appeared before the children. She spread her hands to expand the comforting aura that came from her. Her name was Josie, and she told them it was just a recording to scare the bad people away. However, as she spoke these comforting words, the someone “returned” fire, and the comfort coming from her was gone. The very real bullets slammed into the house over and over. Sunrose tried to make herself as small as possible as the air above her was shredded. 

The shooting stopped for a moment. 

Sunrose heard footsteps on the porch of the house. Josie and the children were huddled in the basement’s corner. The silence was a suffocating blanket. Sunrose yearned to investigate, but Josie told her it wasn’t safe. She complied without hesitation. She was drilled with the lessons of when compliance was proper, at home with family, and when it was bad, with the White supremacy power structure. Sunrose knew what all of that meant; she was a very bright child and had a near genius-level intellect, yet she had never lost the innocence of childhood. She calmed her breathing and stretched out her mind. 

She touched the waning life force of the wood that the house was built from and the tiny creatures that lived in the walls. She took control of a simple little pincher bug and ran to the outside of the house, using the knowledge that the tiny creature had gathered as a map. She was aware that the bug could never interpret the information independently, but it was a tool for Sunrose. 

She made it to the front of the house and saw soldiers in black uniforms and shiny armor on their shoulders, thighs, and shins. Sunrose saw one of the men place what looked like a giant candy bar wrapped in some weird paper right in front of the house’s door. The mean man turned around and casually walked away. He had seemed so cautious before, but now he had a smirk on his face. 

Progress was at its core a peaceful group. They had no reason to teach children about explosives or weaponry, but they would learn a terrible lesson today.

Because the pincher bug had very terrible vision, Sunrose used the life force of the tiny creature to change its eyesight gently, to be more beneficial to her on this reconnaissance mission. It would change back once she released the twist of the life force. 

Once the army man rejoined his buddies, they jogged away as quietly as they could. Sunrose turned back to the package and realized there was a small timer on it. The numbers read: 

:06s 

She stared at the clock in bewilderment. 

:05s 

Was it an automatic door knocker? 

:04s 

No, that was dumb. Did the adults only have so long to open the box? Oh no, she had to tell Josie the men left a package at the door that needed to be opened right away! 

:03s 

Sunrose popped back into herself. “Um, excuse me, Josie, the army man, left a package on the doorstep for us.” 

:02s 

“The army man left what?” Josie said, whirling to face Sunrose. Sunrose flashed her a mental picture. 

:01s 

“BOMB!” Josie screamed. 

:00s 

The explosion ripped through the front of the house. The front door all but disintegrated, and pieces of it embedded themselves in some of the house’s occupants. The explosion destroyed part of the basement, and the porch collapsed into the hole made by the explosive. 

Within a few seconds of this explosion, a barrage of bullets filled the front of the house. Josie put up a barrier to protect the children, and Sunrose reinforced it. They both knew it would not hold. 

The huddled group had been on the far side of the basement when the collapse happened. 

Sunrose heard the grunts and moans of injured people and started to look up, but Josie refocused her. 

“Sunrose! Listen to me. I don’t think I can hold it for long. You have to get the kids out of here, someone…” her voice trailed off, and Josie slowly lowered her hands. 

“Okay, they stopped shooting. Run, children!” Josie gasped, and the children dashed through the smoke, unusually silent, though terror gripped their tiny hearts. 

Sunrose did not cry. 

As Josie led the kids to apparent safety, a helicopter hovered over the barricaded house. The order had come from very high up and was the death knell of the officials’ careers delivering the command. 

Two men flew in this helicopter. The pilot, Lieutenant Frank Howell, believed he was doing God’s work and following reasonable orders. The other man was not visible to Lieutenant Howell. This man had dark skin and a small tight afro. He wore a black, well-fitting suit and very sensible shoes. If Lieutenant Howell had been aware of the dark-skinned man, he would have noticed a strange metal collar. It had a small hole and a solid red light. The shadowy Black man cast a simple localized illusion that anyone watching, or recording would see what he wanted them to see. The pilot held out his hand and dropped a satchel. The shadow man in the black suit leaped from the helicopter to the roof of the house. Once on the roof, any need for deception no longer existed. 

“Who the hell are you?” a voice called out as the man stood to his full height. The shadow man knew he only had a few seconds to begin his mission before his controller outside would doubt his efficacy. 

The shadowy, Black man with the tight afro, black suit and tie, and sensible shoes exploded. The man who challenged the intruder and several others in the immediate area vaporized instantly. 

Josie led the children upstairs to the rear of the house. The explosion from the roof knocked them all to the floor. They got up and sprinted for the back of the house to the exit when the shooting, at the front of the house, started again. 

Sunrose did not scream. 

The collapsed rubble on the front of the house provided some cover and deflected many rounds of bullets. The smoke and dust obscured Sunrose’s vision. The little yellow dress she had on became badly torn somewhere along the way, and it hung on her by just a few threads. However, she saw that the others around her fared no better: some were naked, the violence having blown their clothes from their bodies. 

Sunrose did not cry. 

It seemed to take forever to reach the back door. It was so smokey and hot bullets whizzed over her head. Sunrose realized that there must be a fire somewhere. 

Oh no, the puppies! She thought. 

Suddenly, she could see the light outside streaming through the smoke. 

Sunrose saw Ramona come out of the backroom and see the group of frightened children. Ramona picked up one child and ran for the door, calling for the others to hurry. 

Panic tried to choke her. 

As Ramona turned to usher the rest of the children and Josie out of the burning house, more bullets tore into the door she had been holding open. Sunrose heard the pops of the guns, and they sounded like firecrackers. The bangs were coming from both sides of the alley. They were trapped. 

Sunrose refused to panic.

Then, with a great groaning noise, the burning upper floors collapsed and crashed onto the terrified group, and Ramona disappeared from Sunrose’s sight. 

No one screamed; they did not have time. 

Sunrose tried to open her eyes and had to shake her head because dirt covered her eyes. She tried to move her left hand to clear her face. Something heavy pinned her wrists. She tried to cry out for help but just choked on more dirt. She could have phased her hands through whatever was blocking her, but she remembered her lessons in an emergency. 

Always assess the situation before you use your abilities. 

Sunrose shook her head more vigorously this time and was able to open her eyes. 

For a split second, she was happy to see Josie’s face smiling at her. The other half of that second, she bit her lip, struggling not to scream. 

It seemed Josie’s body had turned to stone, and she was holding the weight of the building on her back. Beams of wood had pierced through her body, but ironically they helped keep the rubble from crushing her. Josie was clearly dead, but she had used whatever energy she had left to protect the child. Sunrose could see the final grief-stricken grimace frozen on the stone face; she bit back tears. The young girl’s bright mind bent to the problem at hand. 

Sunrose looked at her pinned hands and saw that Josie’s stone hand had pinned her left wrist while her right was under some debris. She phased her arm and went under Josie’s hand. 

“Thank you,” she said, bringing her right hand out to touch the cold face. Sunrose could not sense her family’s life force at all. She was morbidly thankful she could not see what happened to her loved ones. 

Still no tears, just their sting. 

After looking around, she knew she could not crawl out of here, but maybe she could phase through the rubble and crawl out. 

Always assess the situation before you use your abilities.

The crumbling rubble groaned around her, and she could hear the unmistakable sound of burning wood. 

Someone had attacked them. Sunrose recalled the army man she saw at the front door planting that small bomb and walking away with smug satisfaction. 

She had no idea who was left or what would happen to her after getting out of this. She was a seven-year-old girl on her own. However, she was not helpless. 

Sunrose dove into the dirt she was lying on. 

Sunrose Alkebulan did not cry. 

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, May 10, 1985, 5:10 p.m.: EST. 

A long, black, unmarked car came to a stop just outside of the yellow tape. There were no official markings on the vehicle, but people steered clear of the car instinctually. 

“You know what to do, Sam,” one of the men said to the other. 

The rear passenger door opened coach-style; it was a small mercy. A tall, dark-skinned man emerged from the car; it seemed he had to unfold himself to get out. He was identical to the man who exploded on the roof earlier, but this man wore casual attire as if he had been walking through the neighborhood and just happened to come upon the scene. 

As he made his way through the crowd, he touched as many people as he could. When the time came, and these people tried to describe what happened here, all of them would say these people had been terrorizing the neighborhood for months. 

Someone had to do something. 

It’s a shame it had to come to all of this. 

All the violence was unnecessary. 

All they had to do was comply. 

They should have just given up, and no one would have died. 

Even as their own homes burned. 

He gave all of this to them like a mental virus. The suggestion didn’t last long, but the belief in it did. When he finished his work, he returned to the car; there was a soft clicking sound as the collar light turned from red to green. The older White man in the car put the key in Sam’s pocket. 

“Don’t lose that,” he said. He turned around, and they drove away.