We Are More Than Hashtags: Death of Sterling and Castile 

  Black men are dying. Black men are dying at such an alarming rate it’s downright scary. They were our brothers, uncles, fathers and husbands. Now they are reduced to nothing but a mere hashtag. 

What has our country become when black men can’t even live without being in constant fear of their lives. Wives, mothers and sisters living in fear if they will return home at the end of the day. 


Simply selling CDs or exercising your right to bare arms is reason enough to kill?!? (Alton Sterling)

I think not! 

No one bats an eye until the murder of police officers are in question. Although the lives of innocent people is a devastation in an of itself. But just like police officers lives matters so does black lives. 

We are not saying other lives don’t matter but we need to get the same amount of sympathy for our slain black men just like those slain officers. 

Something needs to be done. But destroying innocent civilians isn’t the answer. We need love not hate. 

We need to come together and fight injustices. But until the ones with all the power and wealth change the way they think nothing will ever change in this crazy world. 

The girlfriend of Philando Castile live streams her boyfriend’s murder. Please be careful everyone you are worth more.  Don’t become the next hashtag. 

Texas Trooper Gets Indictment After Death Of Sandra Bland

sandra bland and texas trooperAccording to reports, Texas Trooper Brian Encinia is being indicted on perjury charges which may actually land him a one-year prison sentence. The grand jury resumed the investigator into the arrest of Bland. She was found in a Waller County jail cell with a plastic bag tied around her neck, just a few days after her arrest.

Officer Encinia was caught on video pulling Sandra Bland roughly out of her car during a traffic stop. Ironically, enough, she was from Illinois and was moving to Texas to start a new job in the summer, when she got arrested.

Jadianna Larsen: The Mysterious Death of a Sacramento Child

By Chris Rivera

jadianna larsenYoung Jadianna Larsen was a 6 year old girl who loved to ride her bike and draw. She was well loved by those that knew her, and affected the lives of many. One man who knew her very well was Anthony Garcia, who lived in building that she lived in. He said “She affected my life by making me happy, she’d always recognize me and say hi Anthony, every day she saw me.”

David Clark, Jadianna’s grandfather, is still having trouble believing this horrible story is true, and said that Jadianna was his princess and his “little best friend.”

The Principal, Sue Gibson, of Bowling Green Elementary also mentioned that Jadianna, “was a bright, happy child – learning came easily to her. She saw the best in everything, was always glad to be around other kids and was easy to get along with.”

Unfortunately, Jadianna’s life was cut short. Her body was found in a suitcase placed in a burning field, in Glenn County, 60 miles away from her Sacramento home.

Her caretaker, who was her mother’s boyfriend, Juan Rivera and his mother, Lisa Burton, have been arrested with the murder of Jadianna Larsen. Juan Rivera told the officers that he suffers from epilepsy and blacked out for more than nine hours, and was waken up, from a seizure, by his mother who came over to check on him. He called the cops at 8:30pm, on Thursday, May 28th, when he realized that Jadianna was not in the apartment, at the Martin Luther King Jr. Complex, which was the home of Tanecia Clark, Jadianna’s mother. He also mentioned that he had last seen Jadianna since around 11 am.

Juan Rivera was arrested on Saturday for the murder of Jadianna Larsen, and was arraigned on Tuesday in Sacramento Superior Court. Juan Rivera’s mother, Lisa Burton, was also named as a defendant, and charged as an accessory. Prosecutors also said she assisted in the cover up of the murder.

Tanecia Clark was never a suspect in her daughter’s murder, Sgt. Lisa Bowman said, “the mother had a legitimate reason for not being around.” Family members of Tanecia Clark said that she checked herself into a medical facility for psychological problems about a week ago and left her daughter with her boyfriend Juan Rivera.

053015_jadianna_BN0018There were some people who knew both Juan Rivera and Tanecia Clark, and were surprised to find out that Juan Rivera was a suspect. Neighbor, Clarice Williams, mentioned how Jadianna, “was like a daughter to him. He took her everywhere he went. I don’t honestly believe he would do that. In my heart I know he wouldn’t do that.”

Cheetah Casborn, who was another friend of Tanecia Clark, and could not understand why Juan Rivera would kill Jadianna. “He loved the little girl,” Casborn said. “She was calling him daddy.”

The family wasn’t as optimistic for the man they hardly knew. Jadianna’s Uncle, Paris Stokes, said that, “The boyfriend of our sister is the only relation to this crime.” He also went on to say, “She trusted him with her baby and whatever happened is his fault, period.”


Under the Radar: Ethnic Cleansing of Christians

There is no doubt World War One and World War Two were one of the darkest times in the history of the World. Both consisted of a mass genocide and ethnic cleansing of the Armenian people in the Middle East during World War One and of the Jewish people during World War Two. As the saying goes, “hind sight is twenty-twenty”, which enables many in the generations after the two world wars condemn the atrocities that have occurred during the early 20th century sadly; however, many are oblivious or apathetic towards the atrocities going on today.

Jews 2

According to the Christian Broadcasting Network (CBN) news, “Every day, thousands of Christians in the Middle East are brutally persecuted by Islamic jihadists demanding they convert to Islam or pay the penalties, “speakers from around the world [have] gathered in Washington, D.C., to discuss the horrors Middle East Christians are facing on a daily basis.” Although these talks are occurring, what is surprising is that there has been very little news coverage about this daily massacre going on when Christian persecution has drastically been on the rise and is the most persecuted group in the world.


Speakers at the meeting in Washington such as Penny Nance who is the president of Concerned Women for America and others argued that “[people] must not be afraid to refer to those committing these heinous crimes as Islamic jihadist… [and that] we need to identify what’s happening in order to accurately fight it,”

An important question to ask is when will Americans and other countries finally put their foot down and deal with ISIS accordingly? If ISIS is not stopped, than the world faces (if it is not already) repeating the horrific ethnic cleansing that occurred during the two World Wars.

One of the main reasons on why the wide spread persecution of Christians is not being discussed as much as it should be is because of the fear to anger others. According to the New York Post “As a candidate in January 2008, Obama pledged to recognize the [Armenian] genocide… but Obama has never used that description since taking office, mainly out of deference to Turkey, a key US partner and NATO ally, which is fiercely opposed to the “genocide” label”. Just like with the Armenian genocide politics always plays a role in addressingarm a problem or pointing out wrong doings. Is Christian persecution going under the radar or being downplayed because of the fear to offend others? That can very well be the reason.

Mathew 5:10-11

10 Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness,
    for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

John 16:1-4

“These things I have spoken to you, that you should not be made to stumble. They will put you out of the synagogues [today it might be from churches]; yes, the time is coming that whoever kills you will think that he offers God service. And these things they will do to you because they have not known the Father nor Me. But these things I have told you, that when the time comes, you may remember that I told you of them.”

Ten Second Start: A Short Story


By  YUV  Writer Randy Russell

The marks on her neck mean there was a struggle. That’s what the morgue attendant tells me as I identify the body.

“Can you sign at the dotted line that this is in fact your daughter?” asks the morgue attendant.

I do as I am asked. He cover’s Erica’s lifeless body then gives me a minute. My emotions are in a rut. That’s my child,

my baby, my only immediate family, and we were estranged at that. She was twenty five and full of life, but now some

son of a bitch has taken that from her and me.

I walk out of the office passing some of the workers there. The expressions on their faces is odd to me. No emotion,

no connection at all. This is their paycheck, ringing in dead bodies, while watching the Kings-Lakers game at the check

out desk. Leaving is the best thing to do at this point, I feel nothing but disgust and churning in my stomach.

The only unoccupied stall in the morgue bathroom is where I let my Chinese food come back out for an encore. For

some reason after that, I feel embarassed and filled with complete anger over my loss that I begin to punch the wall

repeatedly. When that starts to wear thin, I kick the stall wall over and over again, screaming in a rage. The people in

the stalls next to this one almost instantly take off out of the bathroom. I begin breathing hard, gripping my fists until my

nails start digging into my skin. I go to the sink to wash my mouth out, putting water on my face as I am doing that. My

reflection in the mirror looks disturbed, because I am.


I sit in my brand new BMW in the parking lot of the morgue, thinking of Erica as a child. The little girl I called

shadow, who just had to be with her daddy at all times. She was deathly loyal to me, as I was the same to her. Except

for the past three years and three hours ago when some jogger found her body on a trail near the American River.


Today I sold my fourth house of the week. I was at my lawyer Wendell’s house this evening when I got the call.

My phone was on silent, due to me and Wendell’s powder party, soaked with Sam Adams Oktoberfest, Chinese take

out and Randy Couture on UFC. My only child was not a priority at the time. Carpenter‘s is next after the morgue. An

hour later, 12oz bottles of the best craft beer is in front of me. Milo Carpenter doesn’t even ask, my face says it all.

Pain, guilt, anger. I’m an emotionally struck man who misses his daughter. Keep ’em coming.


It’s quiet tonight. A few college kids, the occasional war vet or biker. The usual for this low key, hole in the wall

pub. Just the way me and all the others like it. Milo is old but didn’t ask too many questions. At sixty seven, he is sure

up on what is truly hip with the kiddies. And he wouldn’t bother you if you didn’t want to be. That’s cool with me.


I see him at the end of the bar. A suit, just like me, continues staring at me. Rival agent I think. The way I’m

feeling, he can bring whatever shit he wants to. I’d kill him and no one would care. Now I’m talking nonsense. I think

more of the Wheat Ale is what I need.


The suit gets up and walks over to me. He sits down and takes a card from his breast pocket. The card reads in

fancy Old English letters, “Revenge, Inc”. “What’s this?” I ask the suit. “My name is Conrad Myers. We are aware of

your situation with the murder of your daughter, and we would like to assist you with your revenge. We have her

killer in Warehouse 13 downtown waiting for you,” says Myers.  This is either a joke, I’m way too drunk, or this guy is

for real. “Who the fuck are you, and how do you know what the hell happened to my daughter?” I ask. I stand up

to him to seem intimidating, but Myers sees right through me.

“The words I’ve said, should’ve clearly told you the arrangement, and the deal my company is offering,” Myers slyly

says. “You have no other choice”.

“This is not the time to be making me offers,” I tell him. “How do I know this isn’t some sick game?”

“Mr. Cunningham, we aren’t in the business of playing games, we are in the business of fixing the lives of broken

families, with compensation. You may not be able to get Erica back John, but you can get her killer back. The address

is on the back of the card. Tomorrow morning, be there,” says Myers.


He gets up and exit’s the bar. I’ve suddenly sobered up but now my mind is racing with what I need to do next. I

look at the pristine work on the business card and the address. The only thing I can think of is see what they’re about. I

chug my last beer, put down a tip, exiting Carpenter’s bar.


The drive home was hard due to the several craft beers in my system and thinking of Erica on her 5th birthday

when we took her to Disneyland. The look on her face is sealed in my soul for life when she saw Goofy for the first

time. She loved every minute of it. More tears come down my face as I think about that day or just Erica in general.

The world seems very closed in and empty right about now.


Home is worse. It’s too quiet here with just me here. I don’t want to be alone tonight. I want Erica to be sitting

here with me having pizza, telling me about her job and her future plans.Well that’s not going to happen anymore.


The next morning I call Erica’s mother, where I hear her beyond annoying voicemail about being in Chile for three

weeks. I hang up. She’ll hear the truth when she returns. Maybe then, she can return to reality and face her

responsibilities like a parent and a grown woman.


Erica’s mother and I did not last long. Erica was born a year into our marriage. Annette felt having a kid, Hell

being married amongst other things were too much for her plate due to her wanting to see the world and things like

that. She is initially a big kid, with no grown up ambitions. Her father is well off so she did not have to worry about

money or a place to stay after we divorced, so initially, I raised Erica, Annette and her parents had her on weekends

growing up. And as much as I tried to patch things up with her, there was no changing her ways or

her views on life. So I played the parent. I made sure of it because the love you have for your

child is stronger than anything out there. I snap out of my strong mode to realize I am still in

mourning, so I should continue sulking for the duration of the day.

I make a cup of black coffee, burnt toast, and light a cigarette in the house. It

doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing really matters anymore. She’s gone, so I hope the

police will find the killer. That is my view because I start thinking again that Myers is full of shit.

But what if he wasn’t?


My eyes turn to the card for Revenge Inc, thinking of what Myers told me.

Thinking that if it’s true, I may be able to kill my pain, and avenge Erica’s death. I chug

the rest of my coffee, take a drag of my cigarette, grab my car keys, leaving my

house on the road to redemption.


Before I head to the address, I stop by the ATM. You never know what this is about, and

I might need money so I pull two hundred out. Nothing big, I honestly don’t know why I am

pulling this money out in the first place. After recovering from the brain fart I just had, I make

my way back to the car, getting back on track heading downtown to the address on the card.


Warehouse 12 is abandoned. It used to be the old Sacramento Brewing Company

factory before they went under. It is now hidden by trees, old run down fork lifts,

old beer kegs, mountains of pallets and old drums. My car reaches the back. I see two

more cars waiting. A new Lexus, and a two year old Jaguar.


I get out of the car and look around. The area stinks of homelessness and other strange

odors that most likely come with the territory. The spot is well hidden, and a drive to get to. But

for what I’m here for, that’s about right. The door to the Lexus opens. An older tall black man in

a nice suit gets out. He looks at me with interest.


“You get a business card too?” the black man asks. “Depends. You a cop?” I ask.

“Far from it. I’m a lawyer. Terrence Wilkes,” he says.

“John Cunningham. Real estate agent,” I say.

“I’ve seen you’re signs. You do good work around here,” says Terrence.


At this point, I didn’t want to get buddy, buddy. I want to see what Myers has to

show me. Excuse me, us, as I look at Terrence. I need to get this over with, and get Erica’s

funeral arrangements together.


Thank you is all I can tell him. The door to the Jaguar opens. An Asian male gets

out. He is small, has glasses and is a complete wreck. He is a bit short, but looks fit. He is wiping

the sweat from his face with a white rag.


“The hell are we doing here? The Asian man asks. “This seems like some bullshit.

They bring us out here for what, to fuck us or something?” says the very timid Asian man.

“We got the business card just like you. My son overdosed on some bad heroin and then I get

the call he’s dead,” says Terrence.


“So Myers did pay you a visit too?” I ask. Terrence nods. “He came to the hospital

when I was checking on my daughter,” says the Asian man. “What happened to her…?”

asks Terrence. “She was raped and found by her roommate in their dorm. And my name

is Richard. Richard Chu,” says the Asian man.


It is all starting to make sense. Each of us was visited by Myers right after something terrible happened to one

of our kids. Myers is giving us a chance to seek revenge. But for what price? Erica’s body on the morgue attendant’s

table pops in my head again. My perspective is clear once more, and my motive and action to complete that motive

can be a reality.


“Your son overdosed, your daughter was raped, and my daughter was murdered.

And this man, or group is giving us the opportunity to seek our revenge. With compensation,” I say with complete



“With no strings though right?” Terrence asks. “He’s right. But, if you saw my little girl beaten, bloody, and filled

with tubes galore like I did. You’d want revenge too,” says Richard.

“I bet that’s like seeing your daughter on a table with a morgue tag on her toe,” I say. “Or your son overdosing a day

before entering law school. You’re lucky your child is still alive,” says Terrence.


“What the hell is this, tit for tat? It don’t matter. We’re here now. So now what?” asks Richard.

Richard must be a bitch to deal with in the work place, wherever he works. He is loud and doesn’t know when to shut

his fucking mouth. Terrence I could see myself having a beer with at a bar. He seems very laid back for a lawyer. I still

don’t know this guys at all though. So I still keep my guard up.


A white van pulls up in front of us. The driver has sunglasses on and looks almost

emotionless. Myers is in the passenger’s seat with the complete opposite look on his face.


“Richard, Terrence and John. You’ve made the right decision,” says Myers. “Myers, just

tell us what’s is going on,” I tell him. He stares at us for a second until he lets out a laugh. He

pulls out three envelopes and hands them to us.


Inside each of them are large wads of money. They are fresh, un-marked, and eye

opening at that. Though I can see the doubt in Terrence and Richard, and feel it in myself, the

money, Myers and the unthinkable incidents that have scarred our families…I was in. Myers sees

that we all are in, so his men open the door to the van. “Get in,” says Myers.


“I ain’t going in there. No way,” says Terrence. “The black man is right. I don’t like this

van business,” says Richard. Myers just stares at us. He almost looks annoyed beyond belief, but

he is so good at staying cool, that his eager smile returns ear to ear, as he looks to the three of us

putting sunglasses on. “It’s usually best to follow the words of the person that has just given you

a substantial amount of money, and who also has trained men with me, who could kill you as fast

as you can breathe,” Myers tells us. Terence, Richard and I look to each other and immediately

agree and begin getting in the van.


In the van, the men blindfold us. The way we are taken must be a secret. You see this

kind of stuff in movies right when the bad guys are about to off someone. But I don’t think that’s

the case.


The van stops, the door slides open and the blindfolds come off. The three tough men

pull us out and we are now in the middle of a forest. “They’re gonna kill us. I know it,” says

Richard. “Let’s start walking gentleman,” says Myers. Without hesitation, the three of us begin

walking through the forest, surrounded by complete strangers.


After about twelve minutes, I can tell we are going somewhere totally hidden from

society. Civilization consists of us eight men, out in the middle of nowhere. Anything could

happen out here.


Time must be flying, due to the sun being way up at the top of the sky, sending its rays

through the trees down on us. Richard mopes in front with two of Myers’ men and Myers

himself. Terrence and I are behind them, with two other guards at the rear. Terrence and I have

taken this time to talk to one another, feeling we are the only sane people of the bunch.


“You married?” I ask Terrence. “Yeah. She is a professor at Sierra College. African

American studies. She’s a good woman, good mother,” says Terrence. “I wish Annette could’ve

been more like that,” I say. “Your daughter’s mother?” asks Terence. “Yeah. We met our senior

year in high school and we just hit it off. We ended up going to San Francisco State together and

all she did was party,” I say. “I know the types. I usually represent them,” says Terrence. I laugh

at that comment, so does he. It’s the first time I’ve laughed since I heard the news about Erica.

“How old was you son?” I ask. “Twenty four. He had just turned twenty four a month ago,” he

says. “Yours?” “Twenty five. She made it a quarter century, and my forty year old ass is almost

half dead,” I tell him. “Shit, me too,” says Terrence. Terrence was okay. Out of everyone here, I

trust him.


“You two butt buddies done sucking each other off?” says Richard. “Fuck you Jackie

Chan,” says Terrence. “Like I haven’t heard that one before watermelon eater,” says Richard.

This is where Terrence proceeds to walk towards Richard until two of Myers’ men get in between

them. Myers walks over to us with a look that looks not so pleasing. “Racisms and bigotry are

not allowed on my time. And what I said before about what my men can do, still goes and John

here can be the only one to reap the greatness of what we have in store. Make a choice,” says

Myers. Terrence and Richard glare at each other but continue down the forest with the rest of us.


Thirty minutes later, the three of us have broken a sweat. Myers and his men are fine.

This has got to be either Placerville or Auburn because I can hear the river nearby. The only

thick forest in this area I know about. We reach an open area in the forest where Myers stops

everyone. Something a few yards away catches my attention and Myers knows this.


He walks over to three long coffin looking crates. He motions for the three of us to

walk over. Myers men walk over to open the crates and pull three men out. My heart races. I

can feel it beating in my throat. My breath is slow and sweat comes over my entire body like

a paper towel slowly soaking on a wet counter.


Myers unmasks the first man. “This is Anton Ruggio, Mr. Wilkes. The drug dealer who

sold the heroin that ended your son’s life,” says Myers. He pulls the hoods off the other two men.

An older white man with a full beard and a younger Hispanic male. I knew one of them is my

Erica’s killer.


“This old, pitiful man is Wayne Garvey. A convicted sex offender, preferring his prey

book smart, Oriental and under the age of 18. He beat your daughter Richard for not being 15,

and that’s while he raped her, then left her for dead. That’s not a man my friends. Well he

is…but he doesn’t meet my qualifications,” says Myers with his motivational speaker voice on.


Richard and Terrence are dying inside. Grown men don’t look like that every day. They

have to be pushed, the pushed that only comes when you have to follow honor, or being a man

and Myers is giving us the opportunity of a lifetime. You take what you get, and I am for sure

taking it.


I was next. I couldn’t wait to hear about the man that erased my daughter’s future. The

man who took away her hopes and dreams. Her life as a wife and a mother. A career that

would’ve taken her around the world. I yearn for this son of a bitch. I could approach him,

possibly strangle him with my own hands, until I hear his last breath.


“This is Manuel Martinez. A paranoid schizophrenic with a hatred for women. He saw

Erica, John. He saw her and made his move. Beat her and killed her and took her for her money.

And we lured them in. We found them for you!” says Myers.

“Why help us? What did we do to deserve this?” asks Terrence. “Terrence, Terrence. All three of you

were chosen” says Myers.


The three of us are speechless. This is supreme confliction. I’ve never felt such anger,

fear and confusion all at once. I can’t even imagine how Terrence and Richard are feeling. But

what does he mean by chosen?


Three of Myers men walk up carrying small briefcases to Terrence, Richard and I. They

open them and reveal three 9mm pistols. Right there, I could tell what this is.


“When I say so, I’ll give them a ten second start, and then you can end their lives and

receive more compensation,” says Myers.

“What about the cops? Terrence asks.

“We wouldn’t have your children’s attackers hand cuffed and at your disposal if that was a problem Mr.

Wilkes,” says Myers.


Richard grabs his gun, storming towards Garvey until one of Myers’ men stops him.

“Move you son of a bitch. He’s fucking dead!” screams Richard. Myers walks over to us,

grabbing Richard’s gun. “When you’re given the opportunity like the one I am offering to you,

you toughen up and control yourself for a small time. Then you can feel froggy when I say leap.

Is that understood?” says Myers. Richard doesn’t say a word. He too believes every word Myers

is telling us. Terrence is still trying to process everything.


“This is guaranteed not to fall back on us?” asks Terrence.

“You have my word,” says Myers with that soothing yet seductively calm voice. He gives Richard his gun back. “Don’t

try that again Richard. Are we understood?” asks Myers. Richard nods his head.


Terrence grabs his gun, looking to Anton gripping the pistol as hard as he can. I

proceed reluctantly to grab my gun too. I’ve never picked up a gun before in my life until today.

But I know how to use it and it will be of good use.


Myers’ men cut the ropes from the three prisoners ankles, then stands them up with their

backs to us. I hope this isn’t how it is going to go down. I want to look him in the eyes when I kill



“When I say go prisoners, you have ten seconds to try and get away. We’ll see how that

works out,” says Myers. He takes out a gold pocket watch, gazing into it for a moment. He

closes the watch, hiding it back into his pocket. Myers looks to them. “Go,” says Myers.


Anton, Garvey and Manuel take off into the woods. Terrence and Richard shoes are

burning rubber they’re so anxious. I’m restrained. I’m piecing together how it’s going to go down

for me in my head, but I am also ready to shed her attacker’s blood. Switch the roles to make him

the victim this time.


“Ten seconds are up. Proceed gentleman,” says Myers. We take off like hounds of hell

into the woods after our prey. Richard catches up to Garvey, throwing him on the ground. After

that, all we hear is his gun going off several times. Garvey is no more.


Terrence and I are together until he sees Anton. We part ways at that moment. That is

okay though, I wanted to be alone for mine. So I head through the woods. Every sense of mine

is enhanced with great desire to avenge Erica’s death. Everything I feel, everything I am going to

do is justified. I keep saying that in my head.


From out of nowhere, Manuel runs at me screaming. I move out of the way as he

stumbles to the ground. He turns to attack me again, but my gun is pointed at him. I’ve made it

ready. It is positioned to kill. Just like me.

“She was just in the wrong place homes. And it was Hector that killed her. I just watched her. I didn’t

really want to do it man please! I’m sorry it wasn’t me,” Manuel pleads.


It was too late for apologies. Anybody will say anything so they can live just a little

longer. Erica doesn’t have that option anymore. It’s done.


“Did you say sorry to Erica? I ask.

“Man, please! It wasn’t me. It wasn’t me!” screams Manuel. “It was me that did this,” I say. I pull the

trigger. The bullet goes into his head. He falls to the ground, no longer here. A relief but chill flows

through me. I’m better. Erica can be at peace. I walk off, leaving him like he left Erica.


Tears are coming down my eyes as I head through the forest. I killed that man. I killed

someone. Me, John Cunningham, top of my class, number one salesman at my job. I am a

murderer. But he murdered her, and like I kept telling myself, it was justified.


I make it back to the others. Terrence and Richard have obviously been waiting for me.

Myers has a very happy look on his face. “Good job John. You’ve done it. You three: a real

estate agent, lawyer and doctor are the best at what you do. We take care of the ones who will be

needed,” says Myers. Myers’ men walk over with envelopes. “Inside is a check for one million

dollars for each of you. A hello and good job,” says Myers. I look at the symbol on the envelope.

That familiar symbol I thought only existed on the History Channel. A freemason’s symbol.

Myers smiles at us. “Welcome to the club,” says Myers.




The End.

Emmett Till and Trayvon Martin

Killing Our Black Community

Jordan Davis, Trayvon Martin, Eric Garner, Mike Brown, Oscar Grant, Rodney King, Malice Green, Renisha McBride and several others all have one thing in common. They have all died to either police brutality or because of some malicious acts caused by some insensitive human beings. It seems our black community is dying at such an alarming rates. These names have began to slowly fade away because mainstream media  doesn’t want us to remember these individuals. It is truly sad that we have reverted back to the 1940s where segregation was running rapid in the cities. If you honestly, think about it we are reliving past times. Marching, rioting, protesting and demanding justice for fallen angels who were unarmed targets to police who treated them like animals.  But when we are losing four or more African Americans within a month or two of it self it’s incredibly ridiculous.

Mike Brown unarmed teen, shot down by police
Mike Brown

Michael Brown, was an unarmed teen, who was shot down by the hands of the police due to  an alleged robbery. He was supposed to start college in a couple of weeks.



John Crawford fatally shot because he was carrying a toy gun at Wal-Mart
John Crawford

John Crawford, was a young father of 22 years of age that was fatally shot in the chest after failing to adhere to officers orders of dropping his BB gun which he planned to purchase from Walmart.



Eric Garner
Eric Garner

Eric Garner, was a family man who suffered from asthma, officers tried to arrest him and while he resisted, they threw him to the ground and placed him in a chokehold. Garner, while in no position to move, cried out that he couldn’t breathe and tried to reach for an inhaler while officers mistakenly took for a gun. His death was ruled a homicide and video has now become viral.

Renisha McBride
Renisha McBride

Renisha McBride, was a young lady who crashed her car in the middle of the night, and was seeking help, knocked on the door and window of a middle age Caucasian man at his Dearborn Heights home, in Michigan. The shooter Theodore Wafer, fired through the door, which McBride endured a shot to the face. Wafer has just been convicted for second degree murder, manslaughter, and possession of a firearm during commission of a felony. He was found guilty on all three charges on August 7, 2014.

Ezell Ford
Ezell Ford

Ezell Ford, a mentally ill man, who was walking down the street while he was stopped by police for investigation. According to reports, Ford wrested with cops and attempted to grab an officers gun. The backup officers shot him, while the other officer while wrestling with Ford shot him and he later died.

Dante Parker
Dante Parker

Dante Parker, was tased by a female police officer after she mistakenly identified him as a burglary suspect, because he supposedly fit the description of someone who did,  because he was riding a bike, just as the actual suspect was. But the family man, worked 12 years at a Daily Press Paper as a pressman in their production department. Comments from family friends and co-workers say Parker often rode his bike, to lose weight and stay healthy, that he’d many times could be found running up and down stairs, and simply being a family man. He was apprehended by police who tased him because she felt he was resisting arrest meanwhile in the back seat of the police car Parker had difficulties breathing, so they rushed him to the hospital, but he like many others, also died.

There are so many faces that have died to foolishness. Why aren’t these cops, and citizens prosecuted through the fullest extent of the law? If anything they are forced to step down and take on desk duty. The worse part is no one cares enough about the black community. I can say Reverend Al Sharpton comes and speaks out about the injustices we face. But where all the influential voices in music and film. These are the people that can change the opinions of our young people. We watch young people spend hundreds of dollars on products and clothes from rich and successful entertainers yet when incidents like this happen we rarely hear anything from them. Now I am not saying it is their responsibility. But an injustice in an urban community is an injustice anywhere. Perhaps, their music could influence some type of change. Since we know the influence of Hip Hop already has on the young black community.

I don’t know when the killings of Blacks will ever end. But what I do know there is no respect at all in the black community. They are finding  new ways to kill us off.  If we aren’t killing each other, they’re murdering us. Until we decide to finally come together and unite as a community we will continue to get treated like animals with no voice. We have to remember the words and actions of Malcolm X and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Hopefully, one day people will finally see us as ordinary people with thoughts, feelings and opinions just like anybody else. I pray for a day where we aren’t victims of racial profiling and truly respected individuals of society.

Remember, YOU MATTER, Let’s Stop Injustice

The Bigot’s Goodbye

A short story by YUV Contributor Randy Russell


Every time I go to the store, there’s one on a magazine cover, or they work in the store.  Hell, sometimes when I buy some foods, they’re on the damn cover of the box. But worse of all, one’s our president. Yet niggers still complain about everything. Makes me fucking sick.

I work with them. Only time I ever have to interact with one is in meetings or when we both so happen to be in the bathroom together. We should take all of them, and put them on one other planet so then maybe things could go a little more smoothly with a pure planet again. It makes me smile to think of that.

My boss happens to be one too, Julius Elliot. That’s a nigger name if I didn’t say so myself. He knew I didn’t like him or his kind. But he could never get rid of me. I’m Wendell Jackson, and even though I’m black, don’t mean I can’t hate my own race.

This is usually the night that my daughter calls me, so I make sure I get home early and pass the ‘homeys’ outside on the curb, doing nothing just standing there wasting time. Shooting each other. Keep going, you’re not doing it fast enough.

It makes me sick that even though they complain about silly ass white people are holding them down, or look at them wrong, or some shit like that, they’re putting themselves in a box because they’re too afraid to succeed, they don’t want to try. They want to sell dope,  gangbang and pimp women because it’s the ‘nigga’ thing to do. Well go on ahead. I won’t be a part of it. I stay out of everyone’s way and live my life. As I sit at my desk writing my report for the magazine, Mr. Elliot walks by my desk.

“May I see you in my office, Mr. Jackson?” says Mr. Elliot. “Why not?” I tell him. I stand up, following him down to the office. We go into his wannabe hip office as he sits behind his kiss ass desk to scold me about God knows what. “Do you have a problem with me, with this job?” He asks me. “No not at all.

I love my job,” I tell him.

“Then what’s with the constant attitude and standoffish behavior towards so many of your employees at this ad agency?”

“I don’t like you people,” I tell him straight up. He looks at me with a confused look like I should be on his side.

“You people?” He asks. “Yes you people. The black race. It angers me that I’m stuck in a world where because of how you act, I am criticized and ridiculed for no reason. In media, in movies and in real life” I tell him.

“Do you hear yourself? You’re a black man, and you’re speaking to me like this?” says Mr. Elliot.

I don’t want to hear it. I’m over this conversation.

“Mr. Elliott, I bet you’ve been through more women than an NBA player. Kids by two different women, priors, and a large drinking problem. But because you twisted the system, and hustled some money, you opened up an Ad firm where even though you do the books, that nice car outside is probably the reason so many lay offs have been made. Once a nigga, always a nigga. Isn’t that what ya’ll say?” I tell him. He just looks at me.

“Grab your things, you’re fired,” He tells me.

At first I think he’s kidding until he turns away from me to go through paperwork.

“Wait, you’re kidding right. You can’t fire me, you need me,” I say.”

“I’ll find another,” He tells me.

He turns back to his paperwork. I sit there truly blown away. Yes what I said was harsh to a nigger like him, but it was the honest truth. I don’t bother anybody, I do my job thoroughly, yet because he has some power, he’s using it to get rid of a real African like me. Well what the fuck ever.

“Go fuck yourself Mr. Elliot,” I tell him. I get up, slamming his door as hard as I can. I walk through the office, all eyes are on me. I don’t care. Everyone can go fuck themselves right about now. As I collect my things, I yell every screwed up racial slur I know for niggers to let them have a piece of my mind. Security guards appear to escort me out. I guess now I can go home and collect unemployment and not get a job like other niggers. Good riddance to this place. Maybe I can work from home. Safer that way and less chance someone will ask me for fifty cents so they can get a Swisher to smoke up the ten dollars they have.

I walk into my small house. It is very clean, tidy, and not niggerish. I refuse. No pictures of strong black people, rappers or porn stars on my wall. I don’t have three video game systems connected to an overly loud and big TV. Stupid niggers. I also don’t have an assortment of ashtrays with Newport buds and blunt roaches filled to the brim of each of them.

Niggers are a breed of their own.

My answering machine is not blinking. That’s strange. Tasha always calls me. This is not like her. She must’ve gotten tied up with work and school. She’s not like other black girls that spend their days in the city human resources offices, talking at the top of their lungs while real people keep to themselves so that they can get actual business done and don’t bother anyone. Tasha is far from that, I raised her right.

Dinner consists of leftover spaghetti and garlic bread, with tossed salad that I whipped up from the other night. It was quiet, just like I like it.

After having a quick Vodka Tonic. I turn in. Today was a long day that I want to forget. I crawl into bed turning the light off. It takes me a second to go to sleep. I keep hearing a creaking sound, but it’s probably the niggers across the way doing their nigger things. So I doze off.  Something is on my face, I assume it’s my blanket. I look to the clock in my room. It reads ‘1:05’. I flick whatever is on my face off. But as quick as a bolt of lightning, I feel it again. I turn the light on in my room, this is where I begin to freak out.

Dozens of tarantulas are all over my bed. I jump up like a scared girl screaming and throwing a fit. How’d they get into my house? I look to see that they are all over the ground, and even my walls. I take back that comment about the dozens, there are hundreds of these eight legged bastards.

As I walk over as many of the tarantulas as I can, I get to the door of my room. Before I can open the door, a figure with a mask pulls out a syringe and injects me in the neck. I black out before I hit the floor.

My vision is very blurry before I come to. I try getting up but realize that my ankles and wrists are taped up and I’m gagged. Home invasion is all I can think. Someone is trying to rob me for everything I have. I begin screaming under the gag until the dark figure walks out to me. He takes his mask off to reveal Mr. Elliot. Son of a bitch. I begin screaming even louder. He walks over, covering my mouth to lower the sounds of my screams.

“Now, now. We wouldn’t want to wake the neighbors would we?” He tells me. I scream even more now until he punches me in the gut, rendering me powerless to do anything.

“You said some mighty bold things today in the office. Things, I would think are bullshit to be honest. You think you know every black person huh? Every black is a nigger right?” He asks me. I try to come to, but I cannot breathe through the gag.

He takes a sharp bowie knife out, cutting my pajama top to reveal my gut. “I grew up  in a rough household. My mother was an addict, and my father, was never there. It was just me and my sister. So you know what I did at age thirteen? I got a job to support my sister and I because my mother wasn’t going to do this. I did all of this while going to school, and taking college courses to get my business license. But I pimp women right?” He tells me.

He takes the bowie knife and cuts me deep. He covers my mouth as I scream some more. The pain is excruciating. I can feel it in my back. Blood begins covering my stomach.

Mr. Elliot goes to his bag to pull out a jar. He walks it over to show me that it is filled with thousands of red fire ants.

“After I got my business license, I opened a small Ad agency with just three people, and it became what it is today. And yes I like Hip Hop and R&B, and dress hip like the young people in this world. It’s because I like it. I’m not out killing people or dope dealing or whatever the hell you said I was doing. Also, I have a strong love for God’s creatures, and I love learning about all the things that they can do. Take these red ants for instance. They love blood, they gravitate towards it, it’s a huge meal for them. So an open wound is like all you can eat night at the China Buffet. I’ll show you,” Mr. Elliot says.

I start to scream as he covers my mouth. He opens the jar, pouring the ants onto my open wound. I feel their little bodies crawling into my stomach, and attacking my wound. The worse feeling in the world. Mr. Elliot sits there looking at me. No emotion in his face like this doesn’t faze him at all. Tears begin dripping down my face. I want to fight back, but that is virtually impossible.

“We’re almost done Wendell. We’re almost done. Hold on,” He  says. He walks over to his bag pulling out a small box with holes in them. He cautiously pulls out a King Cobra snake. The king of all snakes. He walks over to me once more.

“I learned to be a snake tamer in India when I went on a vacation. Yes, niggers who work hard can go to India. This bad boy can kill you with one bite. I call him Percy. So long story short Wendell, before you go accusing ‘black’ people of being all in the same class and all that shit. Make sure you get your facts straight. Because this ‘nigger’, just took one of the most ignorant niggers, out of the picture,” Mr. Elliot tells me.

That’s it. There’s nothing I can do at this point. Mr. Elliot lets Percy go. He slithers towards me. Paying the ants no mind. He goes straight for my neck and lashes out. The pain of his fangs subdues me to the point, I can’t even scream out. The cold feeling of my body shutting down begins to take over. Percy slithers back to Mr. Elliot who carefully picks him up, putting him back into his box. Mr. Elliot packs up all of his things and walks towards me.

“I’ll send Tasha flowers,” He tells me. He walks out of my place. I lie on the ground paralyzed, dying from the venom put in me, plus the ants having a field day on my stomach, now only death is on my mind, what a way to end my day.

The End.


Author Janae Marie Attends Sacramento Black Book Fair


Author Janae Marie and Publisher of Young Urban Voices, will be attending the Sacramento Black Book Fair. She is the Author of Flirting with Temptations and the upcoming book, Daddy’s Home. She is also the writer, director, and producer of a short film, entitled My Mother Donna.

Flirting with Temptations


Monica Clayton is a smart and successful Senior Marketing Executive at Shears & Perry marketing firm. A single mother to a five year old little girl appears to almost have it all until she is partnered with married co-worker Keith Jackson. Things take an interesting turn for the worse once the two become involved romantically. What starts off as an ordinary fling turns into a sadistic fatal attraction.

She then meets her next victim Computer Consultant Marlin Turner. She falls head over heels for him. That is until she meets his Latina fired up wife Kasha a small woman with a short fuse. After a mysterious encounter leads to murder Monica is forced to watch her back as she soon becomes the target of revenge. A path of sleeping with married men slowly begins to catch up with her when she winds up in a tragic accident fighting for her life. Monica finally realizes her actions could soon lead her to an early grave if she doesn’t change her ways.

While on a quest for forgiveness Monica meets eligible bachelor Jeremy Stuart. The couple plans to share their life together that is until she runs into Kasha on a plane. Who wants revenge for the pain Monica has caused. Is it too late for Monica to change her home wrecker ways or will she always be haunted by a past that will ultimately determine the fate of her future?

Daddy’s Home


Abandoned, raped, homeless, molested are just a list of things Danielle Turner has endured while growing up. Being sexually abused at the age of thirteen by her alcoholic father and ignored by her mother after she witnesses the act herself, forces her to runaway from home. She tries to settle in with her Aunt Tralene and sophisticated cousin Sadie but when she finds out some shocking news about her parents, she decides to face the real world on her on.

Danielle finds herself homeless and pregnant after meeting Desmond Washington a popular student at her school. With no one to trust she turns to life on the streets.

She later meets smooth talker Dante Willis who promises to take care of her. But she doesn’t know that his promises come with hidden agendas. Danielle finds herself being forced into prostitution and abusing drugs to earn her keep in Dante’s house.

The hard streets of Detroit, grow her up fast but it isn’t until an encounter with her father that she is finally able to move on with her life.

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Daddy’s Home By Author Janae Marie Coming This Fall

Daddy's Home the upcoming book by Author Janae Marie soon to be released this Fall
Daddy’s Home the upcoming book by Author Janae Marie soon to be released this Fall

Chapter 1

Her Silent Cries

Every night I had to hide. Every night I had to hide from the pain I felt inside. I had to escape from the world I was in. The days he, my father would come home drunk, yelling and screaming as my mother would leave me alone with him as she rushed off to work as a District Attorney or so I thought. She didn’t give a damn about the misery I endured at home. Tonight like any other of his drunken nights, would be the day he would strip me of my innocence. Every night he’d come into my room, to kiss me good night. But those visits seemed so unnatural. The things he did, the things he wanted me to do.

“I’m going to teach you to be a woman,” he said.

I was only thirteen and was scared shitless of him. I knew what we were doing was wrong but what was I suppose to do? Yell, kick, scream then he may kill me too? I watched him unbutton his pants. I clinched the sheets, feeling a strong nerving feeling flow through me. I had never seen a penis before and I certainly never wanted the first one that I saw to be one of my own fathers’.

“Touch it, grab it and hold on to it,” he orders me. Frozen in fear I did nothing but look at him until his voice grew louder and with more anger, he took my hand and wrapped it around his penis. I let out cries of sorrow but he just slapped me and told me to “grow up.”

“I’m going to make a woman out of you.” He often repeated to me. “This is what makes you a woman. Now lay back as I put this inside you. You going to be a real woman, not like your mother that selfish bitch,” he tells me. I begged for my father to stop. I even tried to kick him in the groin but he punched me in the face and tells me to be a “good girl.” I hated my father for continuously taking my innocence away from me. I was never the same after what he did. I cried, screamed, shouted and pleaded for him to stop. I could feel every piece of me ripping apart as my father shoved his six inch manhood inside of me. I wanted to kill him and vowed to myself that one day I would. I resented my mother secretly for staying with a man so drunk, evil and crazy. I knew after tonight my life would never be the same again. He kissed me on the forehead as he fastened his pants to get ready to leave.

“Remember Danielle, if you tell anyone, they’ll never believe you. They’ll just say you’re lying,” he states to me as he walks out the door.

Chapter 2

No One Would Listen

It had been almost two years later before I found the courage to tell someone what was going on between my father and I. I finally decided I would tell my mother. Surely, a good mother would stick up and support her child right? Hmmph, or so I thought, I found my mother working on some files buried on her desk, while tapping a computer keyboard in front of her. Slowly, I approached her with what was the hardest confession I ever had to make.

“Mom, can I talk to you about something?” I asked standing in front of her.

“Ugh, Danielle is this important, don’t you see I’m busy,” she replies with an attitude.

“It’s about dad.”

“What about him” She questioned annoyed as her friends tapped the keyboard, and eyes still glazed at the computer screen.

“Well,” I said, clearing my throat.

“When you are gone to work, dad does things to me,” I admitted.

“Does what things to you?” She says not batting one eye.

“He does things to me…he should be doing to you.” As quickly as the words poured out from underneath my tongue, my mother finally took her eyes away from the computer screen. That did it, that’s what got her attention. I just knew she would come rescue me from the dark hell I felt I was in.

“You lying bitch!”


“Always trying to seek attention, now if you don’t mind; I am very busy, Dani.”

“I’m not lying,” I yelled as tears rolled off my cheeks.

“He does this every night, you are gone. If you don’t believe me, ask him, ask him, momma!”

I painfully cried out as I tried hard to make this woman who gave me life believe me.

“Ok Danielle, what does he do to you?”

“He used to make me touch his penis, and then as I got older, he would come into my room at night while you were at work and have sex with me. I begged him to stop but he would just slap me across the face and tell me to be quiet. Please mom, leave this man, I beg of you for my sake?”

I pleaded with this woman to be a responsible woman and mother to do the right thing.

“How long has this been going on?”

“For two years,” I answered

“For two years…Why the hell didn’t you say anything?

“I was too scared. He told me not to tell you but I am tired of this. He is my father. I am fifteen years old. This is not right mom. If you don’t believe me ask him,”

My father had just walked through the door which meant soon it would be time for my mother to leave but not before we finally got to the bottom of this. I had hoped my mother would put him in his place. I was hoping his place would be on the corner of Woodward and 6 Mile.

My mother and I walked into the living room where my father was drinking a can of beer and staring out the window.

“Hello, Warrington, you got a minute? I need to talk to you about something ,” my mother asked my father.

“Um, sure, what’s going on?”

I waited in the kitchen while my parents talked I didn’t want to feel the awkward tension in the room. The conversation didn’t last long because, the next thing I knew my mother calls out to me.

“Danielle Latrice Turner, get in here right now!”

“Yes, mother,” I said, as I entered the living room but before I could figure out what was going on. I was greeted with a hard slap across the face. I broke out into tears as I grabbed my stingy face.

“What the hell did I tell you about lying Danielle? Now he tells me, you’re going around being fast with boys at school and you wanted to cover it up before you got into trouble. Well, Danielle, I have no damn tolerance for this nonsense. You brought this on yourself. Stop lying. Are you acting out for attention or something? I’m leaving for work now. I swear girl, I just don’t know what’s wrong with you.”

“Mom, I’m not lying and I’m not messing with any boys at school. Mama, please believe me,” I begged.

“Danielle, that’s enough!” my father interjected.

I looked at him and rolled my eyes with anger. How dare he say I am lying he is the cause of all of my pain. My mother grabbed her briefcase, gave me a disapproving stare and walked out the door. I tried to run out after her.

“Mom, please don’t leave me alone with him. I beg you, please stay home today.

“Danielle, please, get yourself back in the house,” I watched her drive off into her car as I stood on the porch too afraid of what to do next. I tried to sneak away down the street but before I hit the stairs my father called me back into the house.

“Oh, no,” I thought.

I went back inside going against my gut feeling. I should’ve kept walking. He told me to shut the door behind me. His eyes were stern and I could tell he was furious that I had told mom about our dirty little secret.

“Didn’t I tell you not to tell anyone about our secret?” He questioned frustrated.

“Didn’t I?” he repeated.

“Yes…” I answered as my father hit me so hard across the face I fell to the floor.

“I’m going to teach you a hard lesson about keeping secrets,” he said. I watched him take the belt from his pants off. I tried to make a run for it, to try to lock myself into my bedroom but my father caught me halfway up the stairs. He dragged me into my parent’s bedroom and locked the door. He shoved me onto the bed and told me he was going to make me pay for telling on him. He pulled down my pants and forced himself inside of me from behind. I let out small wails of agony and pain. My father was relentless when it came to destroying the purity I was supposed to have. I was only fifteen and already had the sexual capacity of a grown woman. I hated my parents; my mother for never sticking up for me. It was almost as if she knew what was going on between us but didn’t care. My father; for raping me of a childhood because he would rather torture me instead of stick his dick in some old woman. My parents were two messed up individuals. But why did my life have to suffer for it? This is the day I decided to take back my life. I told my mother and she did nothing. There was no way on God’s green earth would I allow this to continue. I’m ending this once and for all. By any means necessary. Danielle Latrice Turner is getting the little piece of happiness they took from me. My father was going to pay for being a sick and mentally disturbed pervert if it was the last damn thing I did.

He finally tired himself out and collapsed on the bed, falling asleep, the sick bastard. I got myself together and quietly left the room as my silent cries shielded the pain I felt inside but not before I grabbed one little thing from on top of the closet shelf. I unlocked the door as he lay in the bed knocked out. I left with something that I knew was going to help me get my life back.