Blackman's World Part 1- Written By : Lovon P.

Ebon rolled up to the lot in his car, the morning sun slicing through his windshield. He tapped the brakes, his ride humming low like it knew the vibe. Today wasn’t the regular grind—mandatory dinner at the “other” building. Yeah, the one the higher-ups owned, where the air probably smelled like money and subtle hate. He’d never been inside, but something told him not everyone there was thrilled about his presence. 

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a fat blunt he rolled the night before. “Man, just a little warm-up,” he muttered, flicking the lighter. The sweet, earthy aroma filled the car as he took a drag, his nerves mellowing with each puff. Sure, the doubt tried to creep in, whispering that this wasn’t his space. But another voice—louder, stronger—was like, Hell nah, you belong wherever you stand. 

Blunt done, he hit himself with three sprays of blunt spray, checking his fit in the rearview. Sharp. Ebon stepped out, head high, shoulders square, walking like he owned the sidewalk. Inside, the building was colder than he expected—literally and figuratively. His boss, Mr. Brown, was already on someone’s heels, buttering up a tall, sharp-dressed White woman with a short blond bob. The woman turned as they approached, her eyes locking on Ebon like she was scanning his soul. “Miss Ribbon, this is Ebon!” 

Mr. Brown beamed like a kid showing off his homework. “He’s one of our best. You’re gonna love him!” Miss Ribbon smiled, but it wasn’t the warm kind. More like the sneaky I’m about to say something sideways kind. “What’s your name again, son?”

 she asked, dragging out the question like she wasn’t gonna respect the answer anyway.“ Ebon,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “It means panther.”Miss Ribbon raised a sharp brow but gestured to the long dinner table. “Well, sit down with us, Ebon, and tell us about yourself.”

Ebon pulled out a chair, his confidence steady. “Well, I know for sure your tone’s a little raised. And I’d bet your whole company runs on White country privilege, so I’m not shocked you feel entitled to act that way. But let’s not forget…” He leaned in slightly, locking eyes with her. “You’re sitting in front of a Black king. Just remember that.”The room froze. 

Forks stopped clinking against plates. Mouths hung open like a low-budget horror flick. Miss Ribbon blinked fast, her face unreadable. Ebon, unbothered, grabbed a serving spoon and nodded toward the food. “Can you pass the peas, please?”

The silence broke as people scrambled to look busy, scooting dishes down the table. Ebon took a bite, smiling to himself. He didn’t care if they liked him—he wasn’t here to blend in.