The Little Angel

The White King sat atop his golden throne, his fair head observing the rich below him. His daughter, the little angel, sat next to him, her wide blue eyes absorbing the shining golden heads of his subjects milling around beneath their room. The White Kingdom, the kingdom to rule them all, was composed of those with fair blonde heads and beautiful blue eyes. 

    Purity was what the White Kingdom emphasized. The White King’s new experiment was his daughter: to teach her only the expressions of happiness. His daughter would be pure, untarnished by no trouble nor the stains of sadness or anger. Even now, her red-lipped giggle and the insatiable curiosity in her great blue eyes were fresh with innocence. His little angel was his treasure, and he intended to preserve her at all cost.

    In the White Kingdom, frowning was strictly forbidden within the palace; a blank expression was to be adopted within the sparkling palace to suit the King. If his little angel could not see expressions of anger and sadness, nor any emotions in between, he conjectured, she would not express those emotions. And he had been right, so far.

    The Colored Divisions were a problem. People with skin as dark as chocolate, some with dark hair and almond eyes, and a few other types of people lived in the Lowlands where they worked for the White Kingdom’s benefit. While the people had pleasant personalities, their skin color relegated them to the Colored Division, which was a shame at times. They would be good assets as White Subjects if it were not for their color. What was troubling, however, was that they were beginning to rise in unity for Equality. A word that he had not heard for several years.

    Simmering just under his carefully masked expression was despair. The unrest within the Colored Divisions was unsettling, and the Equality-Objective reforms suggested by his Subjects were growing on him, despite the traditions of the White Kingdom rooted in his soul yelling otherwise.

***

    The little angel was about six when she decided to cross the line of hedges separating the palace from the Lowlands. Her father had mentioned the Lowlands a few times, but never in detail.

    She was smart enough to not tell her father about her adventure; he would forbid her because, as he always told her, the Lowlands were dangerous. She savored the word “danger” on her tongue, letting it melt like candy. A smile crossed her face as she skipped across the boundary of hedges between her kingdom and the Colored Division.

    The Lowlands were not like her golden palace on the hilltop; that was what she first noticed. It was full of brown and gray square-shaped things - perhaps, houses, like how the golden palace was her home. She had never seen more despondent colors than these, crowded together yet sprawling as far as the eye could see. The little angel flitted closer uncertainty. She let out a gasp of surprise as her eyes absorbed the sight in front of her.

    A file of brown-haired people were marching down in a file, baskets on their heads, and silver-rusted heavy chains linking all of them together. Some of them had skin the color of the chocolate her father fed her when she was being good. Others had eyes the shape of almonds, and yet others had slightly darker skin colors and dark heads. And there were still so many more, all looking the same, all with upside down mouths, all with dust all over their body. Their clothes were not of silk and the finery that she wore; they were rough and coarse. As the little angel flitted to and fro behind buildings, peeking out every so often at the sad procession, she could not help but notice a certain expression on their faces. She twisted her mouth down, marveling in the strange feeling on her face. Why were these people carrying baskets? Why were they chained like prisoners that she sometimes saw wandering through the palace? Why were their mouths upside down?

    The little angel realized with a start that there was not a single golden head among them. Perhaps, like her father said, the White People lived in the palace above because they were the rulers. But something in her pure innocent heart twisted - her mouth turned upside down - as the leader of the procession took out a whip and stung a struggling girl, causing her to fall heavily, the basket full of potatoes tumbling away. The girl stood up, the welt of the whip clear against her milky white skin, and continued walking, basket on her head. 

    The little angel started when she saw a boy with a skin color of chocolate watching her from a distance away. He was perhaps a little older than her, dark hair that hung in beautiful braids down the side of his face and an inquisitive expression on his face. He looked like the White Subjects, but with Chocolate Skin.

    “Who are you?” he asked, his voice rough and hoarse.

    The little angel smiled happily because he seemed to be a potential friend. “I am from the White Palace. My name is Purity. What is your name?” 

    The little boy looked at her, the strange expression on his face making his mouth curve downwards. “You’re one of them white people. What are you doing here? Spy on us?” he asked, his voice rising as he advanced closer. 

    The little flinched, confusion clouding her brow. “I am not a spy. I wandered here without my father’s permission. But do not tell him for he will be very angry. I like your hair. What expression are you wearing so that your mouth turns down? Why are they chained down the road? Why are there no people like me here? Why do you look so different from me?” she blurted out, the words forming a rapidly falling waterfall.

    The Chocolate Boy seemed amused, and stopped walking. “You talk a lot for a little one, don’t you? Thanks ‘bout my hair; Ma spent a long time on it yesterday. I’m frowning. They’re chained because of you. Because you white people think you’re the best. And because I am black so I look different.”

    The little angel blinked her eyes rapidly, looking at the Boy in front of her. He talked differently and did not talk about White People with capitals, but instead with lower-case letters. She never knew that the White Kingdom thought they were the best; she assumed they lived in the Golden Palace because that was their home. She preferred calling him the Boy instead of black. “The chains around their hands are there because of me? What did I do wrong? Are they being punished because I traveled down here alone? I did not tell Father because I wanted to go on an adventure.”

    The Boy sat on a step leading to one of the homes, gesturing for her to sit next to him. The little angel hesitated; it would be dirty. But it was an adventure so she sat primly down next to him and crossed her legs under her white dress. The Boy did not smile and began talking in his strange way that appealed so much to her soul which had only ever heard the stilted words of the Whites. Words about Asians, Blacks, and races trickled into her mind. Words about sadness and anger permeated her expression on her face, as her blue eyes filled with tears as the Chocolate Boy talked about being whipped and chained by the White People. How the White People made sure they lived here with barely any supplies to work for them. Words about frowning and despair entered her vocabulary. Words about different cultures and people punctured her heart and soul.

    And when he was done explaining, the little angel’s soul flitted about within her cage. Agitated by what she had just learned, she could not stop the tears dripping down her face, and the frown that was pulling at her mouth. 

    Joshua - the black boy - looked at her worriedly, another word she had learned. “Are you okay? You’re different from those people up there, you know. I kinda like you.”

    The little angel lifted a trembling hand towards her face. She could feel that something within her had rumbled and changed, turning into an older and wiser version. When she stood up, she felt as if she had been on this earth for a thousand years and now understood all the horrors and secrets the dirt was hiding. And when she looked up towards the glittering gold palace above her, she did not feel the familiar urge to smile and laugh; instead, she felt a horror and anger dawn on her. 

    So the little angel gathered herself up, shook hands with Joshua, and trudged slowly to the White Kingdom waiting for her with open arms. 

***

    The king frowned as he gazed upon the little angel. She was not chirping away as usual, nor was she smiling and laughing. Her hands trembled every so often. No, something was wrong. 

    There was a great stain on her face, one that reflected the darkness on her soul, that was slowly destroying the purity and the whiteness inside. The little angel had seen expressions that she had never seen before, had seen things that she had never seen before, and was appalled by what she saw. 

    His experiment was ruined, and the only way to fix this mistake was to Erase her and start again, a clean whiteboard. So he stood up gravely. “I am going to call the Eraser.” 

    The little angel trembled in her chair. “Father…” she began, her ocean blue eyes lifting up to meet his own. 

    He shook his head in disappointment, letting the mask of blankness fall from his face, revealing the anger and regret written across his wrinkles. The little angel trembled even more with fright, her wings aching to let free and fly. But he couldn’t let her fly. “You visited the Lowlands, didn’t you?” he asked, his voice sharp as the knife used to cut glass. 

    His daughter bowed her head, her lovely golden-silk forming a waterfall draping past her face. “I am sorry, Father. I was just curious…”

    “Curious about what? I told you never to go to the Lowlands. I told you the palace was your home and you were to stay there. And, now, look. I must take you to the Eraser because you have ruined everything.”

    His little angel shot up, her shoulders straightening with almost clockwork precision. “No! I won’t forget. I don’t want to be your experiment anymore!” she exploded, her face turning a lava red. “You never mentioned the Lowlands because you just want everyone to forget it.”

    Her voice lowered down to a reverent whisper. The White King could tell she was no longer in this room, but wandering the dusty roads of the Colored Division. “The city is filled with sadness and so much anger, Father. The children are dirty and do not get a proper bath for at least a week straight. They do not get to learn the numbers and words we do, even though they invented the numbers and the names of the stars we see in the sky every night. 

    “And the people work so hard, chained together, their legs quivering every step they take under the heavy baskets they hold on their head. Sometimes they collapse and the overseers that you appoint whip them to death even though they do not want to whip them; they just want to please you so they can make enough money for their family. They sleep piled together in dull houses that have no color; their only color is the faded grass next to their houses and the brilliant blue skies above them and the clothes they are forced to dye. 

    “But they dare not speak against us because they are afraid that we will kill them all. They have their own cultures, Father, and they celebrate them in beautiful festivals from the little colorful scraps of cloth they are able to gather. But, oh, they are so angry and sad from being butchered so long. They are ready to rise up for Equality because no one is paying attention to them!”

    The White King stared aghast as the fiery little angel before him, her blonde hair seeming to cascade down in mud-colored waves and her ocean-blue eyes turning into a chocolate-covered color. But he blinked and the vision faded away, replaced with the angel that he nurtured from birth. 

His little angel was wrong. He had been watching the Lowlands very carefully, monitoring their work and the uprisings. If what she said was true, then the White Kingdom would not get the food that the Colored Divisions harvested nor the beautiful products that they built. The White Kingdom would starve to death, and the Colored Division would rule them all. 

    “Really? For you, things will change. They will begin to live in better conditions. Immediately,” he muttered, his voice carrying across the room. 

    No doubt his Subjects would agree with his decision - for a long time, their voices had clamored for better treatment of the Colored Division, but he had been too preoccupied with other matters. He watched as a smile broke out from the clouds on Purity’s face, like the sun emerging from a storm. Her innocent mind had decided that he had seen the injustice of the situation and decided to right it immediately; she could not see the calculations that he was making to ensure the survival of the White Kingdom and ensure the survival of that beatific innocent smile on her face. Perhaps he would begin to make more and more concessions for the Colored Division. It was evident that she had found a friend within there, no matter how much he disapproved. But, if anything, to see her smile again. 

    Perhaps better and more colorful food. Reduction of chains, and rest days during the week. Maybe better buildings and houses; they had enough space across the rivers and the plains. Maybe wheeled carts instead of carrying baskets.

    While he was considering possible concessions he could make, he discovered that the little angel had scampered off, possibly to inform her young friend. The White King stood up tiredly, ready to call counsel. Yes, a majority of the White Subjects would be pleased to hear this; those that opposed him would disappear quietly. 

    When he stood at the door, he had an uncanny feeling that the little angel was hidden somewhere and watching him happily, with her luminescent ocean eyes glimmering with happiness. The White King felt a pain pierce his heart - it disappeared almost as quickly as it appeared - and he left quickly.

***

    Joshua smiled as he sat down next to Purity on the doorstep of his house where they first met at. No longer there was the small square hut of brown and gray. The house - home - had expanded wider, had a pointed roof, and was painted a brilliant ocean blue color that reflected Purity’s eyes. 

In the distance, perhaps twenty blocks down, black smoke arose from the destruction of the old flimsy homes into the gray dawn sky; they were to be transformed into homes of color, fit for people to live in, not just people of color. 

    No longer did Purity look like the confused little girl he had met her; in every slight wrinkle and crease of her face, there was a wiseness, a stillness, and a slight sadness. Her father had initiated the changes, not for the Colored Division, but for Purity. Yet, whereas her father had refused to talk to Joshua for the first years, he had now begun to greet Joshua whenever they saw each other. Things were changing.

    There was still a long way to go, even as he grasped Purity’s slender white hand in his own dark one. Even though he was able to walk freely in the kingdom where the White Kingdom used to stand, the scathing gazes aimed at him by passing whites were enough to melt him to his bones. But Purity’s tight grasp on his hand kept him anchored to the ground, telling him to fight for his Equality, to fight for the Equality of all the people. 

    His mother smiled at him as she practically skipped along the street. He remembered seeing her with shackles around her hands, her shoulders stooped. Now she was free, free as a bird, and constantly teasing the two lovers. 

    There were still people that frowned whenever they saw him and Purity together; it was not natural, they claimed. But he was going to school - a real school, sponsored by the Kingdom - when, in the past, he had drawn letters and numbers in the dirt. So what was natural to him had been thrown in the trash years ago. 

    He kissed Purity on the top of her head, gathering her close to him as she smiled in response. And as she did, the sun rose, its smiling face telling him that there was light in the future. 

    One small step at a time, Equality would be established. 

    One small step at a time.