Black Ugly People Novels & Stories

Black The Origin Chapter 37: Stepping out. It was a busy street in the Arzona Capital. At the market, lots of tourists and citizens have preoccupied the streets. Alkhun whose wearing his black cloak keeps bumping on different people in the streets. It has been weeks since he started traveling avoiding any capitals. He headed to the Capital of Arzona in the southern part of the East Continent.

Momo muttered, blood oozing from his mouth. I gazed at Billy and Kate, who slowly crawled out of the layers of blocks. Their eyes were all white, pleading for a way out of their calamity. “Everyone get behind me.” Pastor Timothy commanded. They scrambled, hoping to get themselves next to the high and mighty Pope Timothy. Kate got herself out of the block, her bones making crackling sounds as she lay on the floor. They stepped back, wondering how a child had managed to crawl all the way out despite the layers of concrete weighing them down.

It had been years of being the strong and young budding alpha female, and in one night, it seemed all of that had been taken away. The wolves of the Craw pack were black and strong, their eyes a variety of colors that changed based on their mood. The wolves of other packs had similar characteristics and sometimes you could only tell the difference based on scent and markings. “Other packs” however, did not include the Decent pack, the pack of the white wolves. They were the outcasts and had gone into hiding for many years now because as Isha had always been told, they were a mistake to the werewolf lineage.

Author's point of view... After her Dad left, Izzy got back to Lissa and asked everything that she wanted to know. Though frustrated, Lissa didn't keep anything from Izzy and told her about the rules of the Black Panthers gang. The Black Panthers were known for their cruelty and their leader is called the Yama himself. They also call him the Devil. Many dangerous and scary names are given to one man. Was he even a human? Not only because of his cruelty but because no one had ever seen his face. It is said that he is so scary, an old demon who eats human hearts and drinks human blood.

"Michael!" "What's bullshit?" Timmy asked, tilting his dark head of hair as curiosity clouded his blue eyes. He had my dad's hair, brown, commonly mistaken for black when it wasn't looked at closely. Dad stiffened. "Uh...it's..." He looked at mom, but she crossed her arms and shook her head. "You got yourself into it, Mike. You can get out of it." Timmy looked between them. "What is it?" Dad cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. "Well, Timmy. It is a very mean thing to say about bulls. It hurts their feelings. So best we not say it, yeah?"

Steve explained to everyone that there will be sensitive visuals while Aziza gives her speech and people will have a chance to ask questions after. I am Aziza Gray, known to many as Mike’s precious jewel and to few as Mike’s gasoline. My father Mike Gray, his brother Nick Gray and many activists fought against the regime. Mike and Nick’s photo was shown on the screen. I attended rallies with my father and my uncle from a very young age. They were famously known as the Gray brothers. All they and millions of black people wanted was equality and to be treated with respect and dignity but instead they were hunted down and murdered. She paused and sighed, calming herself down.

Since Amanda and her parents have started staying at the Stone Estate she had only heard of Sandra from Mr Stone but she hadn't seen her, though she wished she would see her someday, she wanted to know what she was like, she is sure she would be beautiful since she is white, the general believe was that white girls were beautiful which is why most blacks also want to be white, many end up destroying their skin in the process. She hates those blacks that would not appreciate their volii, and all in the name of being white, they end up giving their skin, different color shade.

Belle leaned slightly closer. "Try to hurt my family," she said quietly. "Try to disrupt the peace we've built, and you'll discover that the woman you've spent years underestimating is not as harmless as you think." A chill ran down Sylvia's spine. Belle's voice never rose. That somehow made it worse. "You've spent years calling me a rat," Belle continued. "But the funny thing about people who survive with nothing is that they learn how to endure almost anything." Sylvia swallowed hard. Belle straightened and smiled once more. The transformation was so seamless that it was almost frightening.

Paul Okeke sat near the office of the mission station, watching some English men leave and enter the building with lopsided gait. He was still admiring the structure of the station when he saw Anne Streamer walk past him. She was not wearing her French pleat like the first time he had seen her rather she allowed her hair to fall down and form long straight curls. Paul Okeke wondered why the hair color of English men and women were different unlike his fellow Igbo people who shared the same color of hair with him–black.

The July afternoon sun was toxic, a blinding white heat that threatened to melt the asphalt of the driveway, yet inside the conference room, the temperature had been cranked down so low it felt like a morgue. Ava arrived last. She had made a deliberate choice not to change. She wore the same black silk dress that had been ruined three days ago, the fabric stiff with dried vintage wine. Over it, she had thrown a men’s black trench coat, oversized and severe, the collar pulled up high to obscure the mottled bruises blooming on her neck—souvenirs of a night she refused to remember just yet. Her hair was still damp from a fresh shower, unstyled and wild, the ends dripping water onto the pristine