MS.YISRAH ABRAHAM - EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW - THURS, OCT 1, 2020 - 7:00 PM PST

December 26,1956, during the last day of the Montgomery CityBus Boycott,I died—murdered actually.The last thing I am able to remember about the night I was murdered was running. Running. No shoes. But I was running; through the woods. I could feel the twigs breaking under my bare feet, I could feel the blood running down my chest as I press my hood against my sliced throat as hard as I could. I have to get there. I have to. I feel my feet bleeding. My mind fixed on running.Run, Henry. Don’t stop running. The coupled voices of the mob faded more and more the harder I forced my legs to run. Until the voices were no more.My vision blurred by the blood running down from my head. “Guide me,God,”I pray.“For I am blind,”God.I could hear the spirit of God command me. “Run, Henry. Don’t stop. Run. You’re going to make it, Henry. You’re going to make it.”Then I see it.The light. I made it! I slowed down. I feel the overwhelming sensation of relief as I slowed down. I could feel my feet become as cement blocks. I could feel my legs become as jelly. Unable to lift my feet anymore, I stumbled slowly in front of the light.I spread my arms wide and high and fell to my knees. I remember thinking, I am