Mr. Smith was reveling in the delectable high-tea as he heard blaring commotion across his palatial house, he immediately darted towards the epicenter and became blanch at the scenery of gruesome mob lynching of another black individual, convicted of stealing a loaf of bread . This was utterly impossible for an old man in his early 60’s to brook such appalling manifestation of white’s supremacy. Regardless of sharing the same pigment- white with several spots of mosquito bites on his face, Mr. Smith was unexpectedly an antithesis when compared with the prevalent bearings of white men. But with growing infirmness and diminishing physical strength, he kept his rage against those bestial deeds inside his heart, and a sense of sympathy for the indigent and castrated black community grew bigger with everyday passing.

Time, as an effective healer of old wounds, started to do his job and the painful memories from that particular day commenced to fade away from Mr. Smith’s mind. After two weeks had been passed since that incident, Mr. Smith was taking a stroll on a nice balmy day, he heard a bevy...