You know the kind.
Those people who walk through our hallways, afraid of what might happen. They look over their shoulders, keep their heads down, and avoid eye contact.
Don't they know there is nothing to be afraid of? Our skin color is darker than theirs, but that doesn't mean that we want to hurt them.
Who could blame them, though?
This isn't their normal place, but once they get in their element, and we're in theirs, the tables turn.
Our hands will go cold as ice, our throats as dry as a desert.
Based of the vignette: Those Who Don't by Sandra Cisneros.