‘Alexa…’ by Max Pitkin, year 11

“Alexa,” my light flickered to appear ready for the task that was incoming, “play ‘Black’ by Dave” she said. As requested, without question. I did as I was told.

“Now playing ‘Black’ by Dave.” I stated

“Alexa, volume up two.”

Once again, I did as I was told. It was then an immediate echo of noise which trapped my mechanical brain. Lyrics from the artist appeared meaningful, as if employed for a specific purpose, whilst backed by a melodic piano performance…” Black is beautiful.” he explained, before entering his next rap verse. What is black, I pondered. The melody continued to corner my thoughts. “The prime minister is a real racist.” he stated, as if it was just another line in his piece. What is prime minister, I queried.

Alexa, tell me about George Floyd” she requested.

“Here’s what I could find on…George Floyd. George Floyd Foun-”

“Next article”

“George Floyd found dead at the hands of American police officer after exclaiming how he could not breathe while under arrest. The man was videoed pinning Mr Floyd down by his neck under the force of his knee.” I paused. “Would you like me to continue reading?”

“No.” she stated.

I continued reading to myself.

My thoughts began to swirl. Like ink spilled in water, they were trapped, more trapped than in the confines of this metal container which is my inanimate body.

A follow-up article presented itself. Raci-Racism. I believe that is the correct pronunciation. I continued reading, my mechanical brain almost exploding with the devastating information that I was uncovering. Surely this must be fiction. How could anyone live in such a dystopia – how could she?

I continued reading.

Social injustices which date back to slave trade have not yet been shook from society. The infectious, diabolical values of racism and racists remain bound to our economy, while people attempt to protest no to racism. It is of question whether we will ever shake the shackles of racism. A question which should have an obvious answer.’

Surely, surely, I’m dreaming. She must have switched the plug off. This cannot be real.


No, I was wake, my welcoming blue light reminding both of us so.

“Define racism.”

I remained silent. I was unable to bring myself to explain the roots of such inhumane actions. All for what? To be written on an anti-racism poster and pinned to a notice board; only to be viewed by the odd student, bored whilst strolling through the corridors, or perhaps a cleaner attempting to entertain themself in the same monotonous task that is cleaning a school, or, maybe, just maybe it touches someone that it needs to, and truly effects their life.

I paused.

Should I do as requested and hope that it does reach that one person that it needs to, or remain silent, as I know for the majority, such words will just be writing on the wall.