Domonique Grier

Behind The Mask

3 a.m. on a Saturday and the dead of night envelopes my shower barely illuminated by the moonlight creeping through the blinds of my window. Directly under the shower-head, water flows from my fro covering my closed eyes. My skin is tight and covered in goosebumps. This day has been stalking me for many months now and now I am full of fright like a pray backed up against the wall because it has come. After calming my nerves and finishing my shower I step out and begin to pick my Afro, I glided towards the sink and my arms tire from tugging my curls straight. After brushing my teeth I exit the bathroom, walk down the hallway and into my room opening my drawer. I select black pants, a black hoodie, running shoes and the mask, perfect store for the job. My stomach is in my throat and my hands shake with anticipation while I'm waiting for the text from someone I never wanted to see again. I didn't want to get dragged back into this, yet here I am.