Glass Slippers

The clock strikes midnight

He's officially pronounced dead

Skin the color of mahogany 

Marred with red 

It was getting late 

Just got finished playing a game of ball 

Heading home 

When he heard some suspicious footfalls

Turns the corner, breath becoming quick

Moon shines pale yellow

Looking behind 

Eye contact with a bright-eyed fair fellow

Young brotha takes off in a sprint 

After seeing the glint of the assailant's piece 

Hears the cock as the fair fellow lines his shot

Losing his shoe in his haste, but that's the least of his worries

It's too late, as the bullet penetrates his right lung

His last glimpse is not his family or loved ones

But the face of his killer

So much for fairy godmothers, huh?