Blurred Lines: 3 AM Epiphany Writing Prompt #137

Welcome to the 3 AM Epiphany. Below is a prompt from the book. If you wish to join in, submit your link via the bot at the bottom. All genres welcome.

The Prompt – Beginnings

Write a story with one of the following as your opening sentence (or choose a sentence from a favorite writer).  You should not let anything but this sentence influence you, however you wish to be influenced (I won’t say, for instance that the style of the sentence should be continued, or that the information contained in the sentence should act as a key to your prose piece).

Length: 400 words.

Note: I’ve decided to take each sentence in turn. There are 10 of them and this is the second of ten prompts.

Sentence: They shoot the white girl first (Toni Morrison)

_____________________

My Response

343939-sepikThey shoot the white girl first. That’s when I know shit is bad. The white folk are usually the last to go. But then, we aren’t dealing with the usual situations you find in Urban America where the racial lines have only two colors – white and black. Here, in this alien world, the usual rules don’t apply.

We brought our racial divide with us, fighting among ourselves the whole fucking trip to this wasteland of a planet. But these … hell, I don’t even know what to call ’em. Aliens? Creatures? They look like something out of Lord of the Rings, all scaly and reptilian, but they aren’t animals. They talk to each other. They have a hierarchy. And, they’re intelligent. Intelligent enough to capture us like rats in a trap.

It had started simply enough. We’d left our staging area to scout the terrain and look for anything edible. Immediately, though, it had become a dick measuring contest between the white girl scientist and me. I was the fucking foreman on the terraforming crew. She thought her degrees meant she knew more’n me about what made for a good camp and ensuring we had things like .. I don’t know. Fucking water to drink maybe.

Shit.

Too late to worry about that now. Her pretty little head full of all that Ph.D. knowledge was scattered across the shiny green sand like someone had sprayed chunky salsa. I looked around the rest of the group and knew that what they said was true, just like there are no atheists in a foxhole, there are no color lines in a war for survival.

Most of these people probably wouldn’t have been willing to seat me at their dinner table and frankly, they wouldn’t have been welcome in my crib neither. But, we was all we got. It was time for a little color blindness. It was us against them and the only way we were going to survive was to work together.

Them things herded us to a pen and left us. Ms. PhD they gathered up and threw on a fire at the edge of their settlement. The sweet, sickly smell of roasting human wafted our way. I wanted to puke, but fought to put it aside. Slowly, making sure not to attract any attention to myself, I made my way to each member of the group and told them my plan.

I’d just finished telling a little shorty from my block back home what was gonna to go down, when one of their females came to the pen. She motioned for us all to stand and the moment she stepped through the gate, I hollered, “Now!” and we all charged.

I don’t remember much of what happened next. I only know that five of us went out and only two of us made it back. Both of us covered in gore unable to tell what was what between us. I guess, by then it really didn’t matter anymore.

2 thoughts on “Blurred Lines: 3 AM Epiphany Writing Prompt #137

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