It was a cold night. As I walked outside, I grabbed my coat. WHOOOSH as I shut my door. People in my hometown of Ferguson, Missouri, marched down the streets. I could see a bright fire a block or two away from me. I could smell the burn, see the ashes in the cold air, and hear the people yelling for justice. But most of all, I could feel the anger inside of me.

“I never knew this place could turn me into such a monster,” I tell myself.

Michael Brown, 18, had been shot by a policeman. As a crowd passed by, I could not help but join. I disappeared into the crowd. I could feel the heat of everybody’s breath trying to yell.

I even started to yell, “Burn down this place!”

Nothing has ever felt good than crying for mercy of my best guy friend. I thought to myself, “We will not stop until justice has been served for all of us.”