On the last night of her life, Cynteria Phillips was seen at 10 p.m. at a Miami shelter, sitting on a sofa and sucking her thumb - just as she had done when she was 4, the first time she was sexually abused.
9 hours later, she was found naked in an alley, lying in the damp morning grass like a long-legged baby put down to sleep. But Cynteria was dead.
She had been beaten, sexually assaulted and murdered - her short, tumultuous life was defined by one violent moment.
Cynteria Phillips' mind probably wandered, disconnected from her body, which the stranger was violating in ways too brutal for a 13-year-old to comprehend.
I imagine she heard herself screaming, while thinking that the terrified little girl no longer seemed to be her, her mind gently drifting to thoughts of security, of home, of love. Things she had heard about but never known. Things she sought, but without the clues to find them.
Reflexively, Cynteria's body might have attempted to deflect the blow to the head that would end her life, but I imagine she was already gone - her child's mind marveling from a distance at the mysterious eddies of universal energy that had deposited her here, dying miserably, dying awfully.
As the end came, I imagine Cynteria's consciousness calmly searching through its limited memory bank, trying to determine who had loved her, wondering who would miss her.
Whoever murdered Cynteria removed her clothes and drove to a narrow side street by Edison High School. Going into work at 7 a.m., a secretary saw the naked body and called police. There were no clues, no telltale fibers on her body -- only semen on her leg. She had bruises in and around her mouth, but there were no signs of a sexual struggle -- no cuts on her thighs, no blood or tissue under her fingernails.
Only a little girl placed gently on a bed of grass -- like a child put down to sleep.
9 hours later, she was found naked in an alley, lying in the damp morning grass like a long-legged baby put down to sleep. But Cynteria was dead.
She had been beaten, sexually assaulted and murdered - her short, tumultuous life was defined by one violent moment.
Cynteria Phillips' mind probably wandered, disconnected from her body, which the stranger was violating in ways too brutal for a 13-year-old to comprehend.
I imagine she heard herself screaming, while thinking that the terrified little girl no longer seemed to be her, her mind gently drifting to thoughts of security, of home, of love. Things she had heard about but never known. Things she sought, but without the clues to find them.
Reflexively, Cynteria's body might have attempted to deflect the blow to the head that would end her life, but I imagine she was already gone - her child's mind marveling from a distance at the mysterious eddies of universal energy that had deposited her here, dying miserably, dying awfully.
As the end came, I imagine Cynteria's consciousness calmly searching through its limited memory bank, trying to determine who had loved her, wondering who would miss her.
Whoever murdered Cynteria removed her clothes and drove to a narrow side street by Edison High School. Going into work at 7 a.m., a secretary saw the naked body and called police. There were no clues, no telltale fibers on her body -- only semen on her leg. She had bruises in and around her mouth, but there were no signs of a sexual struggle -- no cuts on her thighs, no blood or tissue under her fingernails.
Only a little girl placed gently on a bed of grass -- like a child put down to sleep.
Founder of 'Missing Black Kids' and 'Murdered Black Kids'
www.freewebs.com/missingblackkids - Missing Black Kids
www.geocities.com/murderedbabies - Black Kids Heaven
www.freewebs.com/missingblackkids - Missing Black Kids
www.geocities.com/murderedbabies - Black Kids Heaven
