The blood of his ancestors flow through his veins. Despised for his existence, he struggles to stay safe and alive. Peering through key holes like a criminal, he takes the role of the night watch just to ensure that his family is safe. Scared; he walks briskly through the busy street wearing the scars of his dead brothers and sisters- with pain etched on his face. Eyes darting everywhere, thoughts in disarray as layers of fear moisten his dark skin. He is haunted by the blaring police car siren and afraid of negrophobic stalkers in blue costumes roaming to slay. The hunter chases with a gun, baton, handcuffs and a taser. Stalks by day and hunts with a flash light after dark with wits sharp like polished hunger, thoughts solely on the kill- camouflaged with quilt- marinated words like “self defense” tattooed on his mind. The hunting party rolls like a pack of wolves proceeding as stealthy as a cat- with each calculated step. Raising tension, brewing suspicion as the hunted cowers in fear, panics and lets his guard down. Armored with a revolutionary, undefiable spirit from his ancestors, whispers from the Harlem Renaissance echo through the mind of the hunted one as his instincts flare up with an eloquent defense. Shouts ring out and he panics- aggressive tendencies are ironies in wait. Bullets travel faster than him- plunging deep into his skin, spilling his blood and destroying vital organs. Throes replace desire as the curtain of life is dropped. A serenade of agony proliferates, his brothers and sisters shudder and scream, “it’s too much”. Waves of despair sweep across the city, another black man has been killed – just another statistic, another hashtag. Riots illuminate the night sky, screams for justice follow simultaneously. A cloud of prayer amidst anger suffices a greater need and dream that one day the hunter will lose his desire to hunt and give in to the moon’s humanity and the sun’s representation of freedom and equality as one race.