Klash of Klans

“ITS A FARCE! The Government is stealing this country from us. They are desegregating our schools. We SHALL fight for our rights”, screamed John from the top of the make-shift stage, his sharp white hood surprisingly intact even in the strong winds that blew that night. “They want to take the guns away from us? HOW. DARE. THEY!!” He gave a few calculated pauses to create an impact. “We start tomorrow to Atlanta to join Fighters of the Plux Klan. More people more power”. Seething hatred towards colored people among other things united the 50 odd Plux Klan members as they lit the cross while posing for pictures in their white hoods and robes that night.

The Klan flocked together the next morning ready to set out to fight for what they believed in, white supremacy. “Go die! Jesus Christ only like whites”, growled Cindy holding up a sign that read “Race Mixing is communism”. When their purpose was unified even burning the cross felt ok since their intentions behind were good. Intimidation is key in this fight. Bob and his friends thought burning Swastika was a good start for today’s march. They kept it in front of a Jewish neighbor’s home. “This will scare the wits out of them $#@$$”, They screamed profanities as they marched down. Somehow behind the robe, life seemed different to them. Anything is possible and the fear in the faces of those colored people who saw them…. priceless.

The marchers continued the rest of the journey on a truck, all fifty of them rested until they march again in Atlanta. Close to their destination, they paused at the entrance of a peculiar-looking cafe. All of them were tired and longed for a warm cup of coffee. They entered the elaborate entrance and a short drive on a rather straight path led to an empty cafe counter under open skies. John turned back to take another headcount. That’s when he noticed the oddity at a distance, “ Why the hell is that exit looking like a shutter now? What the….” Before he could complete the sentence, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. It was a guy in a green military uniform carrying two guns along with more behind, dressed similarly, “zip it..shushhhh”, he commanded. When John tried to interrupt, he fired a few rounds towards the sky. John reached for his gun strapped to his boot. Alas! There was no gun!

“You don’t try to play smart”, said the man in military green turning towards him, his guns still smoking. He swayed them side to side, his finger ominously pressing halfway down on the triggers. For the first time, the army of white supremacists felt intimidated at the hands of someone else. Ironically so, in a land, they called their own, one from where they have been trying to drive out a few others.

“This must be a mistake”, said Cindy gathering all the courage she had.

“Who’s that sweet voice there?”, asked the man with the guns, with a wicked grin on his face as he scanned the crowd.

“It's me sir”, said Cindy. Her husband briefly tried to hold her back but to no avail.

“Tch…tch..tch… come here will you?”, said the man making a cat-like face turning back to his mates giving a sly grin, and passing one of his guns.

“How many women do you have here?” He suddenly commanded loud. Two more hands went up. He commanded them to move to his right.

“Now take that bucket off your #$@@**** heads and hold it out for me will ye, I’ll take a piss in it…shall I?”, he said laughing menacingly.

“You guys shall be working for Jo Bros company from today. Do you hear me? I was told there are 50 of you. I paid dollars for you idiots. You guys did not come cheap and we didn’t know you had three women with you. The women shall stay with us while you shall go to the farm to work from NOW... MOVE.”

As everyone stood in disbelief at all the events that were unfolding, Pete’s cries rung out loud as someone in the green army lashed a red hot iron rod at him mercilessly, without any warning whatsoever. The others cowered and obliged walking in the direction they were asked to.

“Take that white robe and those buckets off of your heads you silly-looking idiots. Walk or else I will put you at the end of this rod and push you into the fire pit.”, said the man who attacked Pete at the top of his voice. Anyone would have believed him owing to the fierce look on his face. His eyes were red with anger and his expression filled with disdain for the crowd.

“John, see my Mom always told me it's not right that we burn the cross. I told you bad luck will befall us all.”, echoed a voice from the crowd as John walked towards the direction of the fields still unable to process the sudden onset of events.

Cindy’s eyes welled up as she watched her flock move on. She had always viewed every member of the Klan as fearless but today she saw them kneeling down like cowards in the face of terror. When they terrorized the colored people it was fun to watch fear on their faces but to be on the receiving side is unimaginable.

“Look down you witch”, a man’s voice said hitting her head with something hard. “You look up only when ordered. Dare you forget.” Straining her eyes to the top corners of its sockets, she watched as her high school sweetheart and now husband disappeared around the corner without even turning once in her direction. Someone pulled her head up by her hair and chopped her ponytail off and whispered cruelly into her ears, “My boss doesn’t like women with long hair”. He threw her cut hair down and trampled it under his feet and then kicked it back on her face. Cindy shook in fear as tears flowed, taking down some dirt as tears streamed down her cheeks. There were pieces of her own hair stuck all over her face. Briefly, she contemplated running but figured what looked like the entrance before, was now completely shut and the place was now filled with men in green, all armed. Someone brought a rope and the men wound it around the women’s feet and left all three of them tied around a tree. Cindy and the two women felt helpless. But then, they weren’t the helpless women these crooks in green perceived them to be. She looked down at her feet and wriggled her toes in her boots to make sure that the sole still concealed the dagger.

The men were walked to the entrance of what seemed like a prison with a small door wide enough to let only one man pass at a time. One couldn’t understand immediately why a farm would need a prison-like this especially since the place was guarded by heavily armed men.

“Ha, the Africans are here! You dirty fellas!” Boomed a voice that emanated from a tall brown-colored man. His skin had a burnt brown color to it, possibly from overexposure to Sun rather than being born like that.

“Hey hey Sir you have made a mistake”, John finally found his voice. “We aren’t Africans. Look at our skin. We are white. Africans are black.”

The brown man seemed snarled a little and with heavy gaits, he approached the forty-seven quaking in their boots. Their white hoods and gowns are gone and devoid of guns they were just forty-seven helpless men.

“Show me your skin. What's with the color? They sold y’all to us saying you are Africans.”. His voice was unbearably resounding in John’s ears, now that he was closer.

“Here see this” John said extending his hand. Suddenly metal clanged as the man drew a dagger from somewhere, almost in a flash, and skinned John along the wrist area. While John writhed in pain, the man unaffected by his screams held up his skin and walked into the gate booming, “We have been tricked!”

Kyle the leader of the green soldiers emerged followed by the big brown man. John immediately recognized him from the national summit the Klan convened a decade back.

“Kyle, it's you? What is happening, Kyle? We are the Plux Klan. I know from our last summit. What is all this? That brown burnt ass skinned me alive Kyle”, John’s anger stemming from the pain on his hands seemed to make him fearless momentarily. Kyle didn’t speak and just stared at John. Then he slowly came forward and took John’s hand as if to shake hands, instead he twisted it in an expert move and wrapping his hand around John’s neck, pulled him closer to his chest. John could barely breathe now partly from shock and partly from the pain in his hands. Kyle whispered into John’s ears in a hoarse voice, “ I don’t know you.” With an audible crack, Kyle twisted John’s neck. None of John’s faithful forty-six dare move from their spots. Who knew valor was circumstantial for the Plux Klan.

(#Deleted writing prompt - Prose retracted this prompt but I had already worked on this, so thought of submitting anyway... had fun attempting a genre I never have before)