The Nigger Factory

by Gil Scott-Heron

  ‘What you're sayin’ is that you gonna pay fo’ our mistakes. You know that if you had been runnin’ things they would a been diff'rent.’

  ‘Maybe. It don’ matter now.’

  ‘Move aside,’ Abul said climbing through the window. ‘I'll wait with yawl.’

  There was little room in the cramped office. Odds and Lawman were sitting on the floor because all of the furniture had been propped against the door.

  Abul was welcomed. He sat in the middle of the two SGA appointed workers and poured himself a drink. He didn't have time to enjoy it.

  The first burst of fire came from the direction of the fraternity house. It was a series of four shots echoing like firecrackers to the men in Carver Hall. The return fire shook them where they sat. There was a repeating-rifle burst, followed by a thundering from guns. The last explosion was a mammoth roar that none of the four men in Carver Hall would ever believe had come from a gun. Abul Menka dropped his glass when he realized the truth.

  ‘They hit the bomb,’ He cried leaping to his feet. ‘One of those bullets hit the bomb. Oh, God!’ he raced to the side window to see the fraternity house being swallowed by flame leaping toward the stairs starting at the top floor and running quickly down the front of the old wooden structure.

  Earl, Odds, and Lawman were rooted to the window unable to react. They could scarcely accept the fact that Ben King was somewhere in that building.

  Abul Menka was still screaming as he tore the barricades from their prop positions at the door. He threw the chairs behind him in his haste to leave and shoved the desk far enough away from the door to exit. Earl and his companions arrived at the door just behind him, too late to divert him. They stopped. Through the rain they saw his running figure disappear across the parking lot headed toward the fire.