Black Story Fragment (Patreon)

There is a story that I don't think I will write, that I've been pushing for others to write for me. One of the things I like about stories is how they reveal facts, connections and feelings we didn't know about. It's one of the best feelings when something unexpected is revealed that turns out to be consistent with the story and perhaps the real world. Like how in the desert planet in Dune, spitting is considered a great honor, since water is scarce. Same with crying. Same things with story elements about the real world, where you read something and think "of course, that's how the world works".

The story I would like to read is about US schools (which I have not attended) and african american youth culture (which I know nothing about).

The story idea is about a normal white boy in a struggling school district. Some external event, think Charlottesville, causes racial tension in the school, and he finds himself cornered and beaten by a group of black students. “Not so supreme now, white boy?” Somehow he is forced to giving head to at least one of them. I’m not sure about the sequencing, but one of the black kids stops the humiliation. “Hey, he has black DNA in him now, so he is part black.” Or that could be the reason for the blow job in the first place. Either way, through naive mercy or intentional sadism they now own him and, under the threat of having the shit beaten out of him, he has to blow one of them daily or so. Since he is “one of them” they then force him to wear clothes like them, swear like them, practice boxing, listen to rap, speak ebonics, keep his sneakers clean, socks high, shorts low, play basket, and the whole list of racial stereotypes. They of course push the stereotypes to the limits to fuck with him. Force him to wear earbuds at all times, even to bed, playing through a rap playlist they set up, and have him recite the lyrics. Force him to be the last into every class room, sit at the back, and perform below average. “I’m sorry brother, but it’s only purple drank from now on for you. Get used to it.”

I did however write a small part that is kind of unrelated to the main story. You need emotional ups and downs in a story. Goals to work towards and miss. For these kinds of stories it can be good to take a reality check a bit into the story and ask, how would you solve this dilemma quickly yourself? Then you create a bit of a detour the for the protagonist to feel optimistic about, and then bring him back at least as bad as before. This fragment comes well into the story, where our protagonist has already endured a lot of abuse, and decides to end it. Why not just stop wearing the hoodie, stop cursing from the back of the class room, stop blaring hip hop in his ears 24/7? He dress up in jeans and polo shirt, as he used to before all of this was done to him, and goes to school pretending like nothing happened.

I could see Terrell looking menacing at me all throughout first class. I wasn’t surprised when I was met by a couple of the usual abusers outside the classroom as soon as class ended. I’m sure they had texted all morning what they were going to do to me. I was going to be beaten to shit, for sure. I knew that already when I put on my normal clothes this morning. Surrounded by them we walked silently across the floor, as they lead me to the rest room. Everyone around us looked away. They knew what was about to go down.

Once inside, with guard posted, I was grabbed from behind. It was Jamal that started speaking, just inches from my face. “What kind of white bullshit you think you doing? You know the one drop rule. Everyone does. You need a reminder of your place, boy. Strip him.”

Still held in place, hands quickly removed my shoes, socks and jeans. Then my polo shirt was yanked up in the air. With no warning of what was coming next, I was pushed into one of the booths, and my head was showed into the porcelain bowl of one of the toilets. Someone held me in place and my arms were pulled down and forward by one person on either side. With my face an inch from the water I couldn’t see what was happening, but when I heard the metallic sound of the chain I kind of guessed what was about to happen. With a clicking sound I felt the handcuff around my right hand, and after some noise from metal against porcelain, the left.

Then everyone let go. Still no one had punched me, so that was a plus. I tried to sit up, but could only move a few more inches from the water, as my stretched arms couldn’t move much. Someone entered the rest room. “Do you have them?” I heard Jamal asking. “These are too big, but we can pad with these”, someone answered.

I heard noises of them shuffling with something. Soon someone grabbed one of my legs and I felt a wet sock being pulled onto my foot and leg, almost all the way up to my knee. Then two more, shorter socks, followed by a shoe that was then tied tightly. Then everything repeated on the the other side. Finally I felt something being tied around each ankle.

“How about some shampoo?” asked Jamal, with glee in his voice. He started to massage something wet in my hair. Then he put on a hat of some sort. Probably a beanie. Then all left, locked the door to the booth from the outside and exited the rest room.

Everything was suddenly quiet, break long since over. The position was awkward, in more than one sense. Not only were my arms stretched forward, and secured around the base of the toilet, leaving me very little room to move my head and upper body. My legs also appeared to be tied back, probably to the base of the stall dividers, so I had to be on my knees, leaning forward into the bowl. I could spread the legs further apart, but that didn’t really help me.

It wasn’t as bad as planking, but it still required me to actively keep my face out of the water, and I wondered how long I could keep it up. The break started at 9:20, so they perhaps left at 9:40? No one would be coming here at least until 10:25. Should I shout and ask for help, or keep quiet? I was locked with handcuffs after all, so what could anyone do for me? And I was almost naked.

It was impossible to estimate time. It for sure went much slower than I thought, since I kept waiting for the sound of the bell. The muscles in my neck and back was really starting to burn though.

When the bell did ring, it didn’t take long until I could hear someone enter the rest room. I didn’t need to come to a decision on shouting or not, because I could hear someone unlocking my stall. Something soft was dropped next to me, then a knee in the back again, and someone unlocking my cuffs. Without a word, and before I even had a look at him, he was gone, and the door closed.

I sat up, still on my knees and stretched my back. Fuck, it hurts. Looking behind me I could see that my feet indeed were tied to the stall base with jump rope. I could also see for the first time what I was wearing. I had some knee high basket socks, a couple of ankle socks, and a pair of obnoxiously large Nike shoes. It looked like they had been designed to look massive even with the right size. The ones I was wearing were a size larger than my feet, hence the extra socks. To my relief I could also see a bunch of clothes to my side.

I reached up and locked the stall door again, and then I begun to untie my feet. The socks didn’t feel wet anymore, I noticed. Once I was free I grabbed the bundle next to me. One pair of basket shorts and one sweatshirt.

I put the heel of the left shoe to the toe of the right to step out of it, but just felt a weird tug. A light bulb lit in my mind. More of an alarm lamp, perhaps. I pulled the edge of the sock out, and I could see the skin follow. I pulled it down, and only got a painful tug in response. These fuckers had glued socks and shoes on me! How long does superglue last against skin? A week? And it sticks to hair forever. I stepped into the shorts, where my massive shoes barely fit through the legs. Unless I started to shave off the shoes with box cutters, I wasn’t wearing anything else for weeks.

As I was putting on the sweatshirt, I remembered I had a hat as well. I could feel it pull my hair and skin as I tried to take it off, of course. Well, at least I was fully clothed now, so I unlocked and went to the sinks to get a first look in the mirrors.

I saw some special edition, extra bulky Nike Air Command Force sneakers, followed by orange and black long Nike basket socks and blood red no name basket shorts. The socks and shorts pretty much overlapped, so no leg was visible. I realized I’d put the shorts on sagging without even thinking about it. Above the shorts a blue Champion sweatshirt, and on top, a ribbed, black beanie hat with the text “NGGR” stitched in red. Real subtle.