This is Not What I Wanted by Rashida R.

Do you know that feeling when you can sense everyone's eyes on you–like you’re the

only one in the room being looked at, and you don’t know why? Well, that’s what I felt at that

moment: like an outsider.

I’m not a bad creature. I’ve made mistakes and will probably make more, just like an egg falling off a wall, or people dropping a bucket of water down a hill. Though, do you see them getting shamed for their mistakes, or looked at like they will butcher the entire town?No. Because at the end of the day, it’s all about your image and if you’re perceived as good or bad.

“The Day of the Incident– what happened that led up to the affair?” The District Attorney looked me straight in the eye. Her gaze was piercing, like a knife that could pull the truth out of me. But there was no truth to pull.

I’d done some research about Ms. Locks beforehand. She got into law ever since she

broke into her adoptive parents’ lives. She ended up getting off easy– only doing a month at

Licorice Detention Center. So now she tries to “connect” with defendants by sharing how her time (one month) changed her life for the better.

Though that’s not gonna work on me, because someone who hasn’t been through my

struggle and fought for what I have can’t expect us to “connect”. Especially not in this

circumstance.

“Mr. Silas?” I’d been blanking there. Now I probably look guilty. “What was the question?” Ms. Locks let out of sigh, almost as if she said, Look at him, just like a wolf– he can’t even remember his lies from the truth. She repeated her question. “I said, What happened that day, that led up to the Incident?” The room was silent. The anticipation wasn’t said, but you could feel it in the air.“ It was a normal day, nothing was special about it.”

“It was a Tuesday. The only day of the week I’m not at school.” I’m a student at Kettle

Corn Creek University. That’s currently where I am pursuing my Bachelor's degree in Enchanted Food Science and Master's of Mythic Food Biology. I study enchanted mulberry trees, golden apples, and other foods–not the skin of a pig.

“Every Tuesday I see my family back in Ogres Fore, just to check up on them– see how

they're doing.” I recognize I’m not looking at anyone– not even the jury– just my claws. I chipped one bad when I got forced to the ground.

“I usually go the same way every time, but there wasn't much traffic that day. The air felt

soft, like someone had gently put their hand on your shoulder. The warmth of the sun had lain on my back. It was a good day.”

I’d finally got the urge to look up. I didn't know what I would see. But I saw it. The faces

of the mixed Jury, Ms. Locks, eager to hear more but still stern, my family with looks of woe. All these signs of sympathy, and yet I still didn’t understand how I got here.

“Did you know you were in a predominantly docile neighborhood?” Her question caught me off guard.

”What?” I asked. I knew what she was trying to say. Did you purposely go to that area to harm those creatures? She wanted to paint me as angry, agitated, uncontrolled. Her idea of me was made from a version that did not exist– a version made from lies of those who misjudge others.

I took a deep breath before answering,” Yes, I did know. But not for the reasons you’re implying.”

You could hear our echoes in the room, whether you wanted to or not. As I pulled my

attention from Ms. Locks, I caught of glimpse of a Pig leaving. He looked agitated, like this

whole trial was irritating. You could see his lips moving as he muttered something outlining “liar." I knew he was talking about me–about how everything that happened was my fault. But it wasn’t; it was the unjust decisions of people in control.

“I came here today to talk about what happened and why it happened. Not what you believe is the only way it could’ve happened.”

“Then what did happen?” Ms. Locks responded. The Pig stopped. I knew he had the

same question I had asked myself. The question I knew everyone in this court was thinking.

“Yes, I was in a docile creature area. Yes, I was profiled by creatures who believe I'm a

danger to society. A danger to creatures. A danger to them. A wolf is someone who has

generations of horrific historical stories told about them. But I don't care. I wasn't gonna be the one to change their minds– not then and maybe not even now. I wasn't hunting, or poaching, or anything. I was just living."

If their idea of me, a Big, Bad Wolf coming to their neighborhood, casually walking, was

so disturbing, then I'm not sorry. I'm not sorry for their outdated thinking and justification about whether I'm gonna hurt them or not. I knew those creatures wanted something to happen–Something that could put their minds at ease. When I’m by myself, I’m aware of everything. It's in my nature. My pack taught me that early on. Don't act surprised, and you won't get surprised.

“Those creatures believed I was a danger, but brought the danger closer.” I took a

breath. I glance at my mother, who I knew could feel every emotion I was feeling right now. The thought of her even going through the same things I did pained me. “Guards pinned me down. And I did resist. It was easy to tell Ms.Locks wanted this to end,” So you did fight with the guards?” "I was fighting to get out, because I had no plan of dying. I scratched that Pig, not for some revenge scheme, but just because she wanted to be too involved. Too close. These creatures treated me like I had done something so egregious, as if I was the embodiment of hate in the world...”

The room was dead silent. You could hear the wind from the window fill the emptiness.

No one spoke. And for a moment I thought, Is this what peace sounds like. Not a worry about anything. Just people, in a room, together. “ No further questions, your honor.” Ms. Locks sat down with a look I couldn’t explain unless I was in her head.

“Members of the jury, you have heard the testimony of Mr. Alphin Silas and the

arguments from both sides. The fate of this case is now in your hands. Please retire to the jury chambers, look at the evidence carefully, and return when you have reached a just and true verdict.”

I was dismissed. And now I just hope they understood what I did a long time ago.

 About This Piece

This project was assigned to me as my 8th-grade writing project late last year. The instructions were to write a story in a narrative perspective. When I first thought about this project, I thought of all the classic storybooks I had read and how they were written. Although I didn’t want this to be an average story about myself, nothing against those, I wanted to connect something deeper to the question. “How can you tell a story from a first-person perspective?” was the question. For me, the answer was by putting your feelings into writing. This piece wasn’t inspired by anything except my feelings, the feelings about subjects I felt so strongly about. That is what I wanted people to know. I wanted someone to read this and truly understand how I feel about the subject of systemic racism. I wanted someone to read this and understand that, yes, this is like every other story, because that is the story that always ends up happening. These situations are not complex or out of this world; they happen constantly, exactly like this.

Credits

© 2025 Rashida Reinhardt. All Rights Reserved.