DISCLAIMER: The following content has graphic language. Do not read on if you are easily offended. This work is a work of fiction.
Color of Love
A white board with forest green writing sat on the front wall, giving several geometric equations to be solved. The board separated light tan bricks laid together to create a brick wall on one half of the room from the other all solid wall, which was laced with the top graded papers and simple rules of Geometry. The carpet was stained with who knows what, that ruined the clashing of navy and ocean blue with the random stains of brown. Staring from the front of the classroom, you could see my eyes directed at that board, but look closely and into my eyes, I’m not paying attention. The old clock that sat high above the same white board slowly ticked away the seconds. With each tick I heard, the heavier my eyelids became.
Slowly, as I heard the ticks, my pencil escaped my hand and by the time it slid down my jeans and flung across the floor, my eyelids slid over my eyes. I hated this class. In fact I was not a big fan of school all together. My name is Shane Magnar. With dirty blonde hair that hung over my head, and when I’m awake, you can see my strong hazel eyes and standing at six feet tall, you can call me an Aryan Barbarian and I’ll wear it with pride, as my European ancestors did before me. I’m nearly 18, so I’m almost an official member of the Aryan-Viking Alliance, the largest Southeastern chapter of the worldwide White Nationalist organization known as the Organization 28. Some anti-White Nationalists, or as we like to just like to call them anti’s, would label the Organization as a terrorist group. How can we be terrorists? We simply want to cleanse our communities, not cause simple terror. Other “watchdogs” call us bigots, racists and scumbags. Even the sharpies (Those stupid Skinheads Against Racial Prejudice) call us boneheads! I’ll tell you what the Organization 28 really is, what they always were. Family. They weren’t my second family, they were my only family.
I live in Florida, so I am forced to attend high school here. The famous sunny beaches, popular night clubs and the endless tourist attractions are great for a family vacation or spring break getaway, but a terrible location for an aspiring White Nationalist such as me. The beach is filled with beaners washing across the shore with their families to greet them, the movies stink to high Heaven with niggers and the race traitors, and the malls have chinks running around spraying perfume samples at you. Yeah, not many real All-American places left to go. Even the fast food joints that once belonged to us are decayed with Affirmative Action!
High school is the melting pot of ALL of them. Hell, right now a gang banger is behind me whispering to his friend in that alien language of theirs. The sad irony is that’s the one thing that is keeping me from going unconscious. How can they butcher the English language and get away with it is beyond me. If I started to talk like that the school would call a priest to perform an Exorcism! Guess that’s the way we treat them nowadays.
Wait a minute, it’s all quiet now. I shrugged a bit to get in a more comfortable position, yet with the deafening silence I could feel eyes on me. My eyes slowly open. I looked up and realized that
Mrs. Modlyn, my ever-so friendly math teacher, was standing next in front of me and has asked me a question that I wouldn’t know even if I did paid attention. Her and I never gotten along, ever since my freshmen year when I walked into her class with a leather jacket, ripped jeans and a freshly made RaHoWa shirt. Yeah, I was just spelling trouble for her. Then again I did throw a firecracker into her class when ‘I called in sick’. That was a fun year, worth the ten day suspension. My eyes began to focus in on the 50ish humanoid with wrinkly skin and dyed bright blonde hair in a scarlet dress in front of me. I finally craned my head to her face, with her crows’ feet, wrinkled mouth and thin glasses to extravagant her sullen, brown eyes. Oh, how I envy the blind right now.
“SHANE!” that vulture-like screech rang through my head. That surely woke me up, “Quit sleeping. Now would you be so kind to keep up with us?”
I shook my head and blinked, “What you say, Mody?”
“I said quit sleeping!” she snapped.
“My apologies. Your teaching methods bored me to sleep,” Okay, so I really wasn’t very respectful to her either. Guess it went hand in hand.
She glared and was about to retort but I didn’t hear her. A loud screech rang through the head of everyone and for once it isn’t her. Saved by the bell!
I flashed a cocky grin to the teacher as I rose to my feet. She huffed and returned to her desk at the front of the class as I walk right out into the flooded hallway. After several grueling moments of battling my way past the human current, I was able to swing open the doors into the cafeteria. Even after a few moments after the bell, the food lines get backed up. Most tables are claimed by a few backpacks and one kid stuck with lookout duty.
I salute a few fellow comrades who pass by. Suddenly I came to an early stop. I spot a pack of students at one table, mostly black of course. They were talking real fast and making rhymes. A rap battle, at least that’s what they claim. If that’s the case then Dr. Seuss was the first Dr. Dre. I snarled in their direction and hoped one of them would see.
After evading incoming students and their lunch, I finally arrived to my table. I sighed and laid my book bag on the table and without saluting Kenny I sat down. My best friend is not much of a White Nationalist, seeing as how he’s half-Native American, but he is a proud Southern boy and he can fight like UFC Hall of Famer Ken Shamrock. Almost six feet tall and leaner than a $5 steak. I’m one of the few, if any that actually knows Kenny is a halfbreed. He does have the high cheek bones and a smooth tan, but he bleaches his hair blonde to blend into rallies and Aryan-Viking Alliance meetings. It might sound funny, but it works very well. Our leader, Tom Williams, might know but if he does, he doesn’t say anything.
Kenny’s girlfriend and I never got along, but we tolerate each other, like she tolerates my girlfriend, Catherine. The only problem with becoming a member of the Aryan-Viking Alliance is I have to give her up. It’s a choice that is too bitter to do. Catherine was a mongrel, we found out recently. Her Puerto Rican side is noticeable now with her silky smooth black hair and doe brown eyes and now, out of nowhere, her caramel tan came in. I took one look at her and our lips met in a subconscious movement. “Enlighten me, why do we need math?” I asked when our lips parted.
“Why do I have the feelin’ ya failed again? My mom ain’t goin’ to let ya keep livin’ with us if ya keep failin’,” Kenny spoke in his thick Southern accent.
“I ain’t failing… I’m sure,” I responded. “Besides, Modlyn is a push over,”
“Yeah, she pushes you over,” snickered Elizabeth, Kenny’s harpy of a girlfriend I mentioned earlier. She was all white, no doubt about it. She had long, wavy Auburn hair, emerald green eyes, slim and lean like Kenny but curves that thankfully he could never have. Today in the cafeteria, she was dressed in a Garfield t-shirt and faded blue jeans with high heels.
“She can try but she’ll break a hip,”
“Have you made your decision, Shane?” Elizabeth snapped.
“He doesn’t need to make a decision. He has all the love right here with me. Ain’t that right baby?” Catherine asked so innocently as she snuggled close to me. I looked at her, her doe brown eyes swelled up in innocence. She was truly beautiful with her slender body and Puerto Rican curves and long raven black hair. Her tan complexion has never tainted her beauty. She has tried so hard in the past two years to show me that not all Latinos and blacks are bad. I never believed her. I loved her for her white side and she knew it.
She dressed in opposite of Elizabeth, thinking she always had to hide her body. White heavily padded eskimo jacket and dark blue jeans with sneakers.
“Girls go get us lunch,” ordered Kenny. “I have to speak with Shane alone. Ya know, Aryan-Viking business,”
Elizabeth nodded and left, Catherine looked at me and I urged her silently. When the girls left Kenny looked at me closely. “Well?”
“Which are ya goin’ to do?”
“I’m doing both,” I breathed. “Excuse me? Tom ain’t goin’ to allow you to date a fuckin’ halfbreed while in the Alliance. Ya know that, dude; ya saw what they did to the last race traitor,”
I nodded. He was right, of course. I’ll be considered a race traitor for sure. Shivers ran down my spine as I remembered what they did to the mixed kid a few months ago. “If you can keep a secret bro, I can do both. Out of sight, out of mind,” I whispered.
“Ya got balls, dude. Ya like a brother to me, I just don’t want my next curb stomp to be ya,”
Kenny finished his Cherry Coke and threw it to a nearby trash can, which he seemed to made effortlessly. We nodded to each other and marched to the outside, where not many people could see us. Kenny took out his red colored pocketknife with a small skull on the side when we arrived under one of the lined palm trees. He tilted his head at the small pocketknife, admiring the blood that laced its edges.
“I wonder how many secrets our blood has shed,” he wandered out loud. How poetic.
The familiar rip of flesh and sting of the blade cut my palm with ease. I flinched but kept silent as our bloody hands met. It was settled. Sworn by blood and honor we would never speak of Catherine to the Organization or the Alliance.
We walked back to our table with the girls waiting for us, but they were not alone. Two very tan men with thin mustaches, both dressed in pink t-shirts and large baggy jeans, were talking to Catherine. It was her cousins, the ones who believed that she should be fully Puerto Rican. It’s madness, I swear. Kenny and I walked right up to the table. Elizabeth was eyeing them with a nasty look on her face as Catherine was playing diplomat and speaking in Spanish. Her twin cousins, Pedro and Paco, broke their foreign conversation and held a staring contest with Kenny and me.
“The arrogance of these wetbacks,” I huffed at Kenny who snickered.
The two whispered to each other, not breaking their stare from us.
“I’ll take the ugly brown one,” I whispered to Kenny
Kenny looked at me, “Dude, they’re twins,”
The shorter and more built one, Paco, shoved Kenny. The thing with Kenny is, he doesn’t believe in shoving matches so he just took a shot and landed a left hook to Paco’s jaw.
Next thing I know Pedro, the taller and leaner one, starts to box me. It’s a high school fight, not Showtime Boxing! So I slammed my knee into Pedro’s stomach, making him double over. Catherine rose from her chair, which distracted me. Next thing I know Pedro landed a leaping round house kick that knocked me clean out. Should have seen that coming, he’s the captain of the school’s soccer team!
I awoke after the last school bell groggy. I looked around with a searing headache, I flinched and rubbed my jaw, I could feel the bump on top of my bone. Kenny was arguing with the school’s police officer while he was in handcuffs. He looked like a fish out of water. It was kind of funny; he always flips out when he feels handcuffs on him. I look to my other side and see my beautiful Latina angel squatting next to me, her face spelt out worry.
“Baby, are you alright?” she asked when our eyes met.
I shook my head to clear the cobwebs and I looked deeper into her eyes. Something wasn’t right, I could sense it. “What did the filthy wetbacks want?”
“Shane!” she snapped. I flinched at the high pitch of her voice, “They are family, I told you not to speak like that around me,” she pleaded and held my hand as I sat up into a chair that I awoke in. “I have to go back to Puerto Rico for my grandfather’s funeral,” she said quickly.
“What you mean back? You didn’t go on vacation this summer,” I asked, holding my head.
She bit her bottom lip nervously, “I’m from Mayaguez,”
I tilt my head confused, “May-A guys?”
Catherine shook her head, trying to shield a giggle, “It’s in Puerto Rico” she said plainly.
“You’re not from America?” I asked hoarsely. Great, a double traitor. Might as well call me Benedict Arnold!
I saw Kenny hoping over to us. They even put him in shackles! Guess they learned that he can kick. “Don’t fuck while I’m gone. I have to make my one phone call now,”
“Who are you gonna call?” asked Catherine.