Messiah Ray pushed open the door to his cramped apartment, shoulders weighed down by another long day. At six foot two, his broad frame seemed to fill the narrow hallway, his warm brown skin catching the fading light through the dusty window. His amber eyes, usually filled with gentle warmth, now appeared dull and weary, with shadows lingering beneath them. His natural twists, a few strands threaded with gold, a gift from Dani, fell over his forehead, untamed and loose.
Messiah met Dani three years earlier at a rally for racial justice, their first conversation sparking an immediate connection. Dani was a force that knew how to channel her pain and anger into action. Messiah was drawn towards her fierce conviction and her awareness about the prolonged hostility towards black people, and especially towards those with African descent like Messiah himself, transformed her into a mentor for him. Her deep knowledge about activism made him sense hope when it wasn’t there. It was at this time when he felt truly alive. Then came the day when Dani became a fallen hero. Without her Messiah had lost purpose. He fell into a spiral of dilemma about how nothing mattered as their only voice, Dani, was no more. As a result he banished himself into the shadows, hidden from the world. He became an individual no less than an average Joe.
The day had dragged on, a grinding blur of machinery coworkers too tired to even share their usual small talk. Waking up every day for work was like watching Keeping Up with the Kardashians……unbearable! The ache in his back was a reminder that his life had become nothing but punching in and punching out, day after day. Messiah always thought of his work as a means to an end. A very gut wrenching way to survive. And these days there was an odd unfamiliar tremor revolving in his head like an electron orbiting around a nucleus.
He tossed his keys onto the counter. They skidded to the edge, teetering, but he didn’t reach out. His fingers hovered for a second, then pulled away. Something gnawed at him….an unease he couldn’t shake. His apartment, usually a safe space filled with little reminders of Dani, felt cold and distant. The peeling wallpaper, the half-read books stacked by the window, even the worn armchair draped with a quilt his grandmother made, all seemed foreign.
Almost on instinct, Messiah turned on the old radio Dani had given him. The uneasy static cut through the quiet atmosphere but it did make Messiah forget for a slight quantum second about the anxiety that had been nagging at him all day. If you talk about altered brain chemistry that is exactly what was happening to him but replace brain with throat. He sank into the armchair, the springs whining under his weight whilst Ray let the radio wash over him. His tired eyes drifted to the corner of his head as he withered away from his conscious self.
Then, Walter Cronkite’s voice cut through the static, steady but strained. “Dr. Martin Luther King, the apostle of nonviolence in the civil rights movement, has been shot to death in Memphis, Tennessee.”
Time had stopped. Messiah’s body went rigid. It was as if the atmospheric pressure was going to squish him any moment. His body loosened, becoming too heavy for him to handle. Dr. King? Gone? It felt impossible. It was as if a pillar had crumbled, leaving nothing but debris.
The world outside began to shift. Sirens wailed in the distance. Messiah stumbled to his window, throwing it open. The city wasn’t quiet anymore. Shouts rose from the street below, a mix of anger and grief. People flooded the sidewalks, their faces twisted with confusion, some clutching radios, others leaning on each other for support.
In that moment, Messiah felt the weight of his own insignificance crush him. Dani was gone. Dr. King was gone. What was left for him? His purpose had always been tied to theirs, a guiding light that showed him the way.
But then, a spark. A memory. Dani’s voice, soft but firm, “When you see darkness, be the light.” She had said it often, a mantra that had guided her own journey. Messiah could almost see her standing by the door, her silhouette backlit by the afternoon sun, eyes bright with conviction.
And Dr. King, his dream hadn’t died with him. It couldn’t. His legacy was more than his life; it was a call to action, a reminder that the fight for justice wasn’t about one person but about all of them. Messiah straightened, the fog in his mind beginning to lift. The world needed light, and maybe, just maybe, he still had a little left to give.
He didn’t sleep that night. Instead, he pulled out a notebook and began to write the ideas, plans, hopes that would restore order. He moved forward with Dr.King’s beliefs.. He thought about Dani’s work, how she had reached out to communities, built bridges between people who thought they had nothing in common. He thought about Dr. King’s marches, his speeches, the way he had moved mountains with words and will.
The next morning, Messiah was out on the streets. He spoke to his neighbors, listening to their fears, their anger, their hopes. He organized meetings, helped set up community support groups, and began speaking at rallies. His voice, once quiet and uncertain, became a beacon for those who had lost their way. At one of his meetings, his iconic speech about the failure of the jurisdiction that had failed them, was documented as one of the most impactful ways to restore America to its glory.
He took the floor at every meeting with show stopping confidence, that today’s Gen Z would hype up about. One of his most iconic moments was when he stepped up to the podium, his voice steady yet tinged with the weight of truth. “They silenced the voices of JFK, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King Jr., even our own Diversity Dani, not because they were threats, but because they were the truth,” he began. This wasn’t just tragedy; it was a pattern. A pattern of fear, of silencing progress. But we are not just echoes of the fallen, we are the roar of a generation that refuses to be erased. The system failed us, but in that failure, it revealed its cracks. And through those cracks, our light will shine, brighter than ever before”.
He recalled his childhood, how his mother had gathered the neighborhood kids in their small living room, sharing stories of resilience and strength. Those stories became his foundation. He began to share them, weaving them into speeches that touched hearts and brought people together. His personal experiences and the nights spent together became the threads of his message. Every riot brought them together.
Of course, there was resistance. Not everyone wanted change. There were whispers, threats, and sometimes open hostility. Messiah knew fear when he saw it;fear of change, fear of losing power, fear of the unknown. But he also saw hope. In the eyes of young children who watched him with wide-eyed admiration, in the tired but grateful smiles of elders who had seen too much darkness.
Over time, Messiah’s influence grew. He started campaigns, advocated for policies that promoted equality and justice, echoing the spirit of movements like Black Lives Matter. He stood on the steps of city halls, demanding accountability, just as Dr. King had done. Messiah’s vision was clear: a world where justice was not just an ideal, but a reality.
Years passed, and though the world was still imperfect, progress was undeniable. People spoke of Messiah Ray with reverence, not as a hero who had all the answers, but as a man who stood up when it mattered. A man who, when faced with the loss of his guiding lights, chose to become one himself.
Messiah never forgot where he started. His apartment remained modest, his demeanor humble. He kept Dani’s old radio, the static a reminder of the night everything changed. And when he spoke, whether to a crowd of thousands or a single person in need, his message was always the same: “In the darkest times, we are the light.” At the end of the day we are our own voice. All we need is the passion and dedication that would coincide with the hard work of our fallen heroes. Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate. As Martin Luther King said, “In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends. I’d say be a little like Messiah. Be your own Messiah. I mean who are you when you’re not performing for the people inside your mind?