The Cost of Racism

A short story about the consequences of racism in the middle east

The hallway was as empty as ever. The dorm doors saddened with boredom. Under the faint glow of the lights the message was clear: no more wars. It had been about three years and two months since the protests began. Educational centers all around the world marked with sudden gloomy hallways and drowned out arenas. The Gaza war certainly took its toll on the future generations. Now not only were the future leaders clueless, but they would be stupid as well. You never know the fraught frailty that an akimbo bearing gun nut has been through until their porcelain bullets pierce your glass skull. Or the way the sun beams out of 'her' eyes with wrought disaster - The way they glimmer with death, black and empty as the pit of life the Israelis dug her out of - now a prisoner of war. Once occupied headstrong, the now feeble minds of the masses eat away at the news of the day, empty bearing bullshit without meaning, or careful attention besides the grabbers that inflate the sense-of-self-importance most journalists have in the current generation of political affleurers.

The way the gun blast marks no meaning to the ears of the hungry and needy. Some would rather die than feel the pain of the blue stomachs they have been forced to endure. The way some would find a way to eat, even if it meant an ethical dilemma that their children may develop a taste for the "bad meat." Well misunderstood that the way they live now will certainly determine the future of their related DNA. Their neighbors bearing responsible grief under the grey smoke of rockets hailing death from above. Fire and hell reigning over the little of life they ever had. But these knife and gun wielding little desert shits had to murder the righteous people of God. They had to cut open their stomachs and behead their babies while their mothers' still-beating heart was chewed and swallowed by these desert rats unworthy of what they even name themselves.

As they run building to building, holding and killing, and unrelentingly squirm through their chewed-out holes beneath the soil on which they inquire for the death of all those poor and hungry and needy that die and burn and rot in the name of terror; both foreign and domestic. Except here domestic means wild and disgusting murderers of the masses. Beyond the gail of the sea of the dead lies the pools of blood called for by the tent murders. The most unfortunate consequence of a hole of rats going feral.