A short story written by Christian Tanner
There are two things that are forbidden in redneck heaven – being black or gay. Unfortunately for me, I’m a bi-sexual black guy.
There were too many men, probably 10 or 11 of them, seriously. I think I should tell you that they were all white, it probably plays a major role in this story. Really, I don’t have anything against white people, it’s just these guys are probably all racist and they were beating me because I’m a black guy who likes guys, too.
Every time one of them would hit me, I think my heart would skip a beat. After a while, they were all hitting me, I started to think I wasn’t going to have a beat to skip. I was only 20 years old, after all, I couldn’t defend myself. I don’t hold it against them anymore, though, and I’ll tell you why. Oh, and before I forget, if you don’t like it when a black man fucks a white girl, you should probably stop reading. I’m not trying to scare you off, but this story gets a little, uh, let’s say – touchy.
What hurt the most was getting kicked in the back of my head. I mean, nothing hurt too badly because my adrenaline was racing faster than a stallion, however, when I got kicked in the back of my head, I saw a flash of white light on the back of my eyelids. The kind of white light that’s described as the pearly gates. Really though, I saw white. Blunt force trauma to the back of my skull. That’s not all they did to me, either, one of the redneck white guys with a Marlboro hanging from his teeth would grab me from the back – grappling my arms so I couldn’t fight back – while another white guy would throw his fists and elbows into my face, neck and jaw. I would cry and then spit blood, then they would have another go on me. They would hold me down and call me names like bitch boy and nigger faggot. First of all, when did they lose their creativity? Black people, we used to be referred to as niggers, and homosexuals were called faggots. All they could do was combined the two? Really? I gave them a lot more credit than they deserved.
Anyway, they were whooping my ass pretty good. What I had begun to ask myself was, why the hell did I decide to take a short cut through the woods to go to the grocery store? If only I wasn’t so greedy with my time, then my face might not have been swollen so badly that my cheeks were reaching off my head further than my nose. My face was rounded, making my head look like a basketball because it was swollen so badly. Then another man, that sick bastards, he really pissed me off. Let me tell you, the 10 or 11 of them were still kicking me pretty hard, kicking me in the stomach and legs and face and what not, but out of the crease of my swollen eyes, as I was laying on my side, getting beaten, I saw a man running towards me as fast as he could, he was running as if it were for his life, while tripping over sticks and the white cloth he was wearing, he was holding something in his hand. He would run, nearly tripping, he would catch himself with his hands and then start running again. What started out as a faint sight of human hope running after my safety, it was actually a member of the KKK who wielded the Bible in his strong grasp.
“Damn boys, you got one.” The KKK member yelled in his best Mississippian accent while he began to beat me with his Bible. Now, from what I remember – please forgive me if I’m wrong – the Bible didn’t say, “Beat thy nigger with thy Bible.” No, if I remember correctly, the Bible was about love and shit.
“He’s a good’n, too.” The KKK member said, as if I were a buck or a 15 lb. catfish.
Please forgive me for not knowing all of their names, but they didn’t introduce themselves when they decided to beat my ass to near death. The one who was taking a break from beating me, he leaned over with his hands on his knees while he reached deep into his lungs to catch his breath, he said, “I know, Jim! And this faggot was just walkin’ through the woods, askin’ for it.”
Yep, that was me, asking for it. I waved my floppy gay hand at them to come beat me. Sarcasm intended, I flagged them down, saying, “Over here! I’m black, as you can see. Also, I am gay. Can I please date your daughter? Or son? After all, I am a good man . . . In bed. I’m a giver, sweetheart.” How could they ever turn me away?
Back to the blood flowing out of my mouth, they were still going strong when the man and his Bible showed up. They kind of started hitting me and kicking me a bit harder when he arrived, I think they were trying to show off. In redneck heaven, a man is judged by how hard he can beat a black or gay man, and for their case, I was a twofer.
I was a slap away from death when the sirens rang. I had never been so happy to hear a cop in my life. The rednecks ran away faster than a deer at edge of a gunshot. I laid on the ground, staring into the sky through the tops of the trees, thinking about what happened and how it was a reflection of who I am. I understand that it’s not my fault for being born gay and black, but I’m not entirely innocent. My mom raised me in a Christian home so I know the Bible a little bit. I know that we are all born with original sin. I laid there, on the sticks and leaves and thin small patches of grass, while I prayed to God for forgiveness. I mean, if it wasn’t for his son, I wouldn’t be able to go to heaven one day. But I couldn’t help but think, I just got beaten as badly as Jesus Christ himself, doesn’t that make me a little bit closer to the son of God? I mean, now we have something in common, at least. But I have to take this moment for granted, because Jesus Christ didn’t have a chance to get revenge. So, at that moment, I knew God was talking to me. He was telling me to forget forgiveness, that they must suffer. Let that be the word of God, the Holy Ghost himself, revenge is justified under certain circumstances.
Unfortunately, the cop wasn’t coming to my rescue. He must have received a different call because the siren came and left like a cool breeze on a hot summer day; however, the cop scared the rednecks away, so it wasn’t not a total loss.
I was sure my legs were broke, they ached every time I tried to moved them. I tried lifting my head up, but I couldn’t do that, either. I was sure my neck was broken, too, but I do tend to over exaggerate things. My eyes wouldn’t do anything but close, so I took it as a sign from God, maybe it was time to go to sleep and let God take care of the rest.
I heard someone say, “Honey, wake up, baby.” I recognized that voice, it was my mom, but I thought to myself, what is she doing out in the woods? My eyes felt as if someone were pinching them shut, they wouldn’t open. I did a little work and with a bit of force, I finally saw light.
I heard my mom saying, “Oh, baby. You’re awake. Thank Jesus. Thank the Lord. Baby, you’re ok, honey, everything is ok.”
I could tell by the smell that I wasn’t locked inside of the woods anymore. I knew I was in the hospital and I looked around for a second, but I fell back to sleep.
“Honey, wake up, baby.” I heard my mom say. “The police are here. They want to ask you a couple questions.”
My tongue felt like it was stuck in the back of my throat, making it hard for me to take a deep breath, but I managed. Talking wasn’t easy, either.
“Son, can you talk to us?” The cop said to me, “I’m officer Brady and this is officer Freeman, we just want to ask you a couple questions about what happened.”
I cleared my throat, I could still taste the dried blood in the back of my mouth, and I finally said, “What do you want to know?”
“Can you tell us what happened?”
Could I? At the moment, everything was rushing back to me and it was giving me the creeps. I could feel my back pulsing while I imagined the rednecks kicking me in the vertebrae. I was practically dead, which meant I had a bit of information that others wanted to know. I told the cop, “I was walking to William’s Grocery to get something for my mom, so I took a short cut through the woods. The next thing I know, I’m in here.”
He wrote on his notepad and then asked, “Do you know who did this to you?”
I told him no, and after that, my answers deflated, becoming shorter and shorter until I fell back to sleep.
Days must have gone by. I was getting better. The swelling on my cheeks and nose were shrinking and I was staying awake longer each day. I could feel my tendons repairing themselves, while my arms and legs had begun to bend again. Everything was getting better.
In Como, Mississippi, where they hang the confederate flag underneath the American flag, there are only about 2,000 people. Everyone knows about everyone, and that’s all I knew about the rednecks. I only knew about them, but I didn’t know who they were; however, I had a gut feeling they were doing something out in the woods near my house.
Two weeks later, when I was home, resting while my mom catered to my every need, I thought of everything I could do to the bastards that beat me. I thought about every torcher in books, from a Columbian Neck Tie to a Chelsea Grin, but I wanted them to suffer. I came up with the best plot of revenge for racist rednecks, and let me tell you, I was highly proud of myself. But I needed a little bit of help.
That night, I did a little bit of shopping on the internet, ordering supplies and what not. Afterwards, I called Emily, my best friend since grade school, and I asked her for a bit of help. Without hesitation, after describing everything they did, she agreed to help me.
One by one, they all went down.
After I got off the phone with Emily, I went back to the woods. The rustling from the leaves and the cracking of branches as I walked haunted me like the ghost of my dead father. Each branch reminded me of a different kick. Forced by the wind, the leaves danced with each other, reminding me of every punch. Every low blow to my scrotum. After roughly five minutes of walking through the woods, I saw a fire. I was drawn to the fire like flies around a bowl of sugar. The closer I got, the clearer the voices became, and I knew it was the KKK the moment I saw fire. I dropped to the ground as soon as I saw a man walking towards me. My nerves fired off like a tommy gun in a 1950’s bank robbery. Tears soaked my eyes from fear, but I wasn’t crying. I heard the leaves being tossed around from the man’s footsteps, coming closer. I heard him crush a beer can with his hand, and then he threw it as far as he could. He then unzipped his pants, and took a piss. I had never been happier to hear a man pee in my entire life. His piss stream neared an end, and then I heard him turn and walk away.
I walked around their camp site and headed towards William’s Grocery, the only store within a mile. Behind the store, all of their trucks were parked side by side along with two squad cars, which I didn’t find surprising. Luckily, I had a pen handy, but I had no paper so I jotted down all of their license plate numbers on my arm.
Later that night, I called Emily, whose father is a cop, and told her to run the license plate numbers through her dad’s computer system when he goes to sleep.
The next morning, Emily woke me up with papers of information, and most of them had mug shots. I quickly snatched the papers from Emily’s hands and surfed through a collection of information. I recognized 5 of them, but I knew there were more; however, everyone that was in the woods the night before, all of them participated in my little game. I’m getting to it, don’t worry.
That was a glorious day. God was proud of me, I know it. It was my surefire plan to get into heaven. I knew God wouldn’t deny my entry into paradise. He wouldn’t allow me to go to hell or get stuck in purgatory. My entry into the Kingdom of God was by the capture, torture and death of those who sinned.
My packages came early. While my mom was hard at work, I played with my new toys that seemed to be extracted from the Anarchist’s Cookbook. You bet your ass that my Amazon shopping cart got my name on some list in Washington, and just like that, my plan had begun.
One by one, as each of the KKK members came home from work or the store or wherever, I snuck behind them before they made it to their front doors, and I grabbed them by their faces from behind, and asked them, “Does this rag smell funny?” While their fighting bodies became nothing but dead weight. I didn’t kill them, no, they would wake up eventually. I had a special place prepared for all of them.
I could hear grunts and moans from the doorway. Emily and I had walked into an old dark vacant house that I used to sin in, and I had led here there. I told her prior to our arrival at the old dark vacant house that I had something to show her. It was something so valuable to my soul that we couldn’t waste another second talking, I was in a rush.
Emily was frightened by the moans coming from the darkness, she asked, “What are those sounds? Are those people?”
“Yes, Emily. They’re bad, bad men.” And I flipped on a generator switch laying on the floor, revealing 15 men, all handcuffed by their hands and feet, tied up and their naked asses were super glued to steal chairs that were bolted to the floor. I think I owe it to you to tell you that all of the rednecks were there.
I placed all of the chairs in a circle, about two or three feet away from each other. All the men, finally awake and frantically searching from an escape, they were stuck-literally. With their mouths stuffed with socks that were filled with ghost peppers and duct taped shut. I took Emily into the next room and discussed the next step.
Meanwhile, the KKK tried to lift their asses from their seats, pulling and ripping, they would cry. They’re nothing when you take away their flaming cross. They moved their hands in rapid motions – pushing and pulling – trying to release themselves from the grind, but nothing was working. My plan was fool-proof.
After a moment of persuasion, Emily was ok to help me with the next step. I handed her a plastic bag and left the room, entering into the KKK’s new congregation.
“Ok, boys,” I said while standing in the middle of the circle of rednecks KKK members, “Are you ready for a show?”
I was disappointed with their reactions, though. Nobody seemed to be ready for the entertainment. I picked up a tiny sewing needle from the floor and pressed it into the stomach of one of the rednecks who beat me.
“I said,” My tone was rising, “are you boys ready for the show?”
As the redneck yelled through the tape from pain, most of them nodded their heads.
“I thought so. Emily, are you ready?”
Her soft voice trailed from around the corner, “Yes, Richie. I’m ready.”
I said, “Come on in.” I backed up into the corner, behind the rednecks. Emily’s body swept around the doorway, her hair flowing, and the KKK men made mmm sounds as if they were enjoying the show. Emily pranced her sexy body into the center of the circle of rednecks and KKK members while they made noises like they were at a strip club. Emily threw her blonde hair down to the floor and then she quickly rose back up. She shook her ass and moved her body for all the men and they seemed to have forgotten about their situation. That’s when I joined in. I walked into the middle with Emily, and slowly wrapped my arms around her waist. And then I fucked her in front of all of them, knowing it was my sure-fire way through the pearly gates.
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