Another terrifying night where I am jolted awake with my heart pounding in my chest, sweat trickling down my forehead. I grasp for breath, desperately trying to shake off the vivid nightmare that has gripped me. It was as if I was transported back in time, becoming an ordinary person amidst the horrors of the Tulsa Race Massacre.

In my nightmare, I was a young African American man, living in the vibrant Greenwood District. The streets were alive with the sounds of laughter, the scent of prosperity wafting through the air. Black Wall Street stood tall, a testament to the triumphs and dreams of our community.

But then, hatred reared its ugly head, its monstrous form tearing through the fabric of our lives. The night sky turned crimson, flickering with the flames that consumed the buildings, the dreams, the very essence of Greenwood. Panic clutched at my heart as I saw the mob descend, fueled by prejudice and malice.

I could hear the agonizing screams, the desperate pleas for mercy blending with the crackling of the inferno. Families were torn apart, their once-safe havens transformed into hells of destruction. Mothers clutching their children, eyes filled with terror, were ripped from their homes. My own sense of safety shattered as chaos and violence erupted around me.

In the midst of this nightmare, I felt an overwhelming sense of powerlessness. Every fiber of my being yearned to fight back, to protect my loved ones and my community. But my limbs felt heavy, paralyzed by fear, my voice silenced by the weight of injustice.

As the flames consumed Greenwood, my heart shattered alongside the dreams reduced to ashes. The streets that once held the vibrant tapestry of our lives now lay broken, strewn with the remnants of shattered glass and broken promises. My face covered in tears and ash as I try to comprehend the darkness of hate that could do this.

And then, I awoke. Gasping for air and understanding. My breath slows as I am calmed by my surroundings  The nightmare still clings to me but the fear is subsiding.

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