Judge Not, lest you be judged
His grandfather pointed to a tree in an abandoned field. The lynching tree. Trey could hear the slurs, sense the kicks and punches, feel the rope tighten. . .
A man approached, shotgun in hand: “What y’all doin’ here?” Trey moved to protect Grandfather: “My son hung from that tree. Showing his son.”
The man put down his gun and offered his hand to Grandfather. “I’m Tom, keeper of the tree. Folks shouldn’t forget horrible things my daddy and his daddy did here. Some come to fell it. Shouldn’t. It’s a monument to the men who felt horrors of hate. Sorry about your son.”
I’ve been doing historical vignettes as an a to z project at my pace. I intended to write a story with k = Klan and l = lynching, but with all the horrible events of late, it was too close to the bone. Then judge not, lest you be judged for Moral Monday, and my story seemed to fit with the theme. Though I’m afraid it may be too subtle in 100 words. But my vignettes are restricted to 100 words, so I’m responsible for the vagueness at either way.
Gordon Lightfoot wrote Black Day in July (1967/8) about the 1967 riots in Detroit.
Two versions: the first Gordon Lightfoot, second, a less folky version by The Tragically Hip. (Always loved that name!)