What defines us still, to so many eyes? In the age of emancipation how do nations measure our skill, our worth? Justice falls away, prejudice remains, stains our character, suggesting opinions before they can form, and shunning those who do nothing to merit it. What’s in a name, what’s in the hue, the pigment, the colour of our skin to define our worth?
And yet, to some, to too many, it still means everything.
Sunday has somewhat crept up on me again, so to put you all at ease, I just wanted to let you all know that this week’s prompt will be up tomorrow, and leave you with a short tale of my predicament in six words.