Xenophobia
Xenophobia Written by grrside
After the last incident the disturbing thoughts increased in both number and intensity. After walking out of the office building, Alan caught a glimpse of a poorly dressed-African man sitting on a stool, an empty plastic cup in front of him, holding a piece of cardboard telling a tragic story about how the man had lost all his belongings when he left his homeland in a dinghy along with two dozen people to enter the continent written with a black marker. He caught Alan reading the cardboard, who in order to not appear rude hurriedly took out his wallet and put the few coins which were the remains of his money for the office's coffee machine in the can. When Alan stood back up, he caught a glimpse of the man's stare, and then those thoughts in his mind began nagging at him again. "Hell thanks, white fag. Those coins saved my fucking life. I'll hug them dearly while you drive to your cozy home in your expensive new car, fucking savior".
"Of course he wasn't thinking that, Alan. Why would he want to say that to the only person on the street who cared enough to give him a hand-out?", Alan's psychiatrist said. "I know it doesn't make sense, but my mind is always trying to convince me otherwise. It makes me feel like shit.MORE That night I couldn't get any sleep because I couldn't stop thinking about what did that poor man really thought when he stared into my eyes". "Were you angry at him?" "No, I..." "If you haven't had a panic attack then, how would you have liked to react to that situation?" "I would never have the courage to put up a fight with random beggar. I'm more of a pacifist, actually, I never understood why can't everyone in the world just get along with each other. I actually felt...guilty." The doctor arched an eyebrow. "Guilty?". "Yes, like...I was born in a happy, prosper family with all the educations and commodities any middle-class citizen of this country could dream of. I now have a well-payed job, which consists mainly of sitting in front of a dark with air-conditioned cooling in summer and a heater in winter. Meanwhile, everyday more children are being born into undeveloped countries in harsh conditions. They work hard to move into a richer country in search of new opportunities just to end up being beggars on the street and being look at with scorn by prejudiced people. It's just not fair". Alan tensed in the room's comfortable sofa. "And then they look at me, like I'm an unfortunate guy just because of the race I was born, and I start obsessing over whatever they think of me..." Alan felt quite relieved he managed to confess his worst fears, a weight being lifted from him. "These thoughts are experienced by way more people than you think. There is a large number of treatments available for obsessive thoughts, including medication." The doctor explained calmly. "However I personally recommend and stress-free daily life, a balanced diet," (The doctor stared at Alan's prominent belly as he said this) "and regular exercise. A healthy mind starts with a healthy body. Of course I can prescribe you medication for a week or two, but after that you should only take it when you feel about to have a panic attack, and a few tranquilizers for those sleepless nights those pesky obsessive thoughts can't stop nagging your head." The doctor stopped taking notes on his patient's file, typed a few commands into his computer which printed a few documents and handed some of them to Alan. "And remember, those thoughts are completely irrational, don't take them seriously, rather, laugh them off. If you give them importance you'll just dip into a mental spiral over and over again. Separate yourself from them, I'm sure the real you within yourself is not necessarily a xenophobe."
Alan wondered what those last words meant. He wasn't racist. He didn't hate foreigners...Although he sure got very nervous when one of them approached him and stared at him, judging him...But that was fear, not hatred. I wondered if that's what the "-phobia" originally meant in "xenophobia". After that visit, Alan pondered about changing his habits as to not have as much stress in his life. He hesitantly started taking the medications. A few days later at the office, Johnny, a younger co-worker being 25 years old while Alan had already entered his thirties had noticed Alan had been working with a more nervous attitude in the last few weeks. Alan confessed he was feeling a bit down psychologically, but that all the doctor told him is that he needed to relieve more stress and make more exercise. "You could go to the sporting center where I used to play basketball at while I was in the local university's team. It has a gym, tennis and basketball courts, a football field...And as it was originally constructed for the university's students their prices are fairly cheap as they don't expect their clients to have much money anyway. Believe me, I still go there from time to time" was Johnny's recommendation. "Thanks for the tip, from now on, I'll force myself to relieve stress and maybe lose a few pounds every week!...Or month..."
***
"This sucks! This sucks, this sucks, this sucks!..." Alan had outfitted himself with dark sporting shirt and shorts made of lycra he bought years ago and never worn from the dark depths of his wardrobe. He finally took Johnny's suggestion and went to the gym of the sporting center where that kid used to play basketball. Alan had gotten on top of the running machine and run for 20 minutes. His round belly bounced around and his tits slapped down into his stomach with every step and his shirt was already dripping wet with sweat. He remembered now why he hated doing exercise. He stepped down from the machine, practically about to pass out, and took a break to catch his breath, thinking to himself that that was enough for his first day. Fortunately nobody saw his hilarious performance because the gym was practically empty. The final basketball match of the season was being played on the adjacent building, everyone wanted to see the university's local team kick the asses of its opponents and postponed their fitness plans for the day. Alan never cared about sports, who the hell wanted to spend two hours watching some jackasses running around and sweating? Not him, for sure. He grabbed his bag and headed to the locker rooms. It was empty, as was the gym. Perfect, he could do with the privacy he never liked showing off his body to other people anyway. He opened his bag. Inside, he rummaged through his regular pieces of clothing and pulled out his prescribed medication. He opened the plastic wrapper and swallowed the pill. He had already been taking it for a few days, but didn't feel any different. They could as well be made of salt. Although he had to admit, no further "incidents" had happened since the one involving the beggar. Maybe it had some effect after all. He pulled up his uncomfortable lycra shirt, his hairy belly liberated from its prison at last, and removed his footwear. With a swift movement, he pulled down both his short and his underwear at the same time, a pair of balls beneath a black patch of pubic hair came into view. He flicked the patch of hair with his right index finger and a soft, wrinkled penis felt alleviated as it finally felt the fluorescent lights of the locker room on it, completing the package. He put his wet and abused sport outfit inside the bag, zipped it closed and placed it on top of a bench nearby. His burly frame walked barefoot into the shower room. The entire room was a big communal shower. Any other day he would be horrified at the prospect of showers without individual stalls or at least modesty panels, but today he could enjoy an overly spacious shower room just for himself. Each shower head included a small tray with bars of pink soap on them, disgustingly most of them were already used, and were reduced to impractical thin cylinders. Thankfully the tray of one of the shower heads further in the room had one that looked like it was just unwrapped and placed on it. Alan moved towards it. The shower head had two confusingly identical pushable buttons which when pressed either hot or cold water would spray from it for a set period of time. Alan pushed one of them...Success! Hot water poured down. After thirty seconds of enjoying the feel while staring into space like an idiot, he finally took hold of the bar of soap and rubbed it all over his body, carefully lifting his left tit with one hand so he could wash the hidden dirt below it with the other. As he was doing this, he heard running, loud voices, joking and laughs on the corridors of the building. "Damn kids making a bracket. Why can I just enjoy my shower in silence?", he thought as he reapplied the process, this time to his right tit. Suddenly, the door to the locker room busted open with a very loud noise. The chatter and the laughing grew closer. He couldn't make out much of it because of the sound of the water splashing his face, but he heard things like "We sure owned them on the court!", "We'll be leaders for the whole summer!" among very distasteful remarks and vulgar obscenities typical to young adults. Shit! The basketball team used these showers? That would explain why it was empty. He sighed frustrated, his moment of privacy shattered. He heard footsteps, then the sound of articles of clothing being dropped to the floor, some being thrown flying around. Alan stopped applying soap on his body and quickly began rinsing, anxious to get out of there. But it was too late, an stampede of nude, athletic young bodies rushed into the showers, pushing, laughing annoyingly loud, punching, slapping and being a total jackass to each other. Alan never found this type of companionship amusing, but that's not what bothered him. It wasn't the fact that he was naked in a room full of equally-dressed men, either. No, what really horrorized him in that moment was the fact that the entirety of the basketball's team members were black.
***
Alan was afraid, stark naked and cold. His plane had crash landed on a mostly inhabited part of Africa. He was the only survivor, and his clothes had been so badly ripped and burnt he just gave up and dropped their scattered remains on the ground. It was dark. He knew he was fated to die from hypothermia, his naked, frozen body a delicacy for carrion birds. Then he saw it. There was a camp fire in the distance. He ran towards it. The heat felt wonderful, its flames his savior. However, he heard an eerie chant, coming closer every moment...
The basketball players had grabbed each other's shoulders, formed a circle, and began chanting their university's local hymn, however they altered the lyrics at their leisure, originally a poem about freedom, equality and social justice, it was degraded to a bunch of vulgarities about how the losing team's manliness was inadequate. They were so drunk in their victory, they hadn't noticed the ample and hairy backside of a white man facing the wall, his hands holding a bar of soap on his crotch as an unsuccessful impromptu towel, paralyzed by fear. Alan couldn't dare look at them, not after what happened the last time his eyes crossed with a foreigner's. "That's irrational, they are harmless university kids, just pass through them and into the locker room without making eye contact. They'll probably make some meaningless distasteful remark about you and then let you go", he told himself. But he didn't dare to move.
Huge and menacing creatures loomed closer. Alan stepped back, but he cried in terror when he realized one of them was standing just behind him. He couldn't help seeing its horrible form. It was a tall, dark humanoid figure, slightly muscled but lean. It's head was hidden behind a mask with a drawing of a deformed human skull hand-painted on it with white chalk. A dark green loincloth adorned with strange symbols on its crotch completed its outfit. It carried a spear longer than the creature's own height. The worst part is that such spear's sharpened tip was aimed at Alan's chest. Alan's heart skipped a beat, he lifted his hands that he still unconsciously had covering his crotch and showed his palms as if he was a criminal caught in the act. The creature took a closer look at Alan, its expression hidden behind the macabre mask. The creature made a short, cough-like sound. Alan wondered if it was a chuckle, a mocking of the puny naked human in front on him. The other creatures approached the camp site, surrounding Alan in a circle. They didn't seem pleased, he must have had unknowingly invaded their territory. With no chance of escape, the creature who first spotted Alan removed its spear from his chest. He gave a small step backwards and slipped on a rock, landing on his buttocks. He saw the creatures looking down on him, their oversized spears dangerously close to his body...
The flow of hot water coming out from Alan's shower head disappeared. He thought he would stand out between all the black flesh even more if he stood in the furthest corner of the room staring at the wall like a statue. So he pressed one of the buttons again, hoping he would like he wasn't finished his shower until a way out from all the bare skin and into the locker room appeared, but he pressed the wrong button, and a stream of extremely cold water splashed on his body, a sharp cry coming out of his mouth as a result of the sudden change in temperature, gave a step backwards, slipped on one of the pieces of soap that had been dropped to the floor because of the player's uncivilized behaviour, and fell on his buttocks. That's when all of them noticed there was a middle-aged white man among them. They surrounded him, their faces looking with curiosity at the man sitting on the floor rubbing his sore bottom, his expression filled with frustrated pain. After the pain subsided, Alan's head slowly looked up. He saw lots of black young adult faces, their eyes on him. Time froze. He looked back down, trying to escape their gazes, but now he found himself eye-level with their shafts. They looked gigantic to him, even though he had already realized he owned a below-average one when he was still an innocent teenager, so he couldn't make an impartial judgement. He gazed his eyes at their stares again, stares now filled with even more hatred than five seconds ago. He blushed ashamed, his mouth forming a nervous grin, speechless. His hands slowly lowered into his crotch again when he remembered the exposed state of his groin. Some of the players thought for a second he was about to play with it in front of all of them rather than hide it. They demanded to know why an "old pervert fag", as they called him, was invading the privacy of the athletic bodies that stood in front him. "I didn't know this was your territory, I swear, I didn't intend any harm, please, let me go!", Alan pleaded. The creatures glanced at each other. Alan just knew they were grinning behind their masks, thinking about what they'll do with him. One of them took a step forward, armed with its menacing spear. Alan clumsily stood up and stepped back from its sharp edge, only to feel the cold feel of the spear tip of the one that stood behind him bruise against his left butt cheek and he yelped in alarm. The boys couldn't stop laughing at the reactions from the clumsy white pervert. One of the tall creatures' claw-like hands grabbed the white naked man by his arms and lifted him up in the air for the others to see. Their masked faces got closer, laughing at the pathetic display before them with deep, monstrous growls and cries. One of the spears poked his cold, shriveled penis. "He has no cock!" It was too much, the horrific fiends laughed their asses off. They began throwing him around, passing him to one another as if he were an inanimate toy just created for the purpose of ridicule. One claw flicked his buttcheeks, they flabbed as if they were made of jello. The fiend holding the longest spear placed the sharp tip just millimeters apart from his anus, then pretended to impale him repeatedly with one claw while the other flicked his bottom with an air of dominance. One of the more mature and civilized team mates ignored this spectacle of degradation. Telling one of his mates how he was wasted after the victorious match, he remarked how he could eat a horse. "This mare could do", joked the other pointing to the fat man in the room. The simile involving horse cocks, a mare's vagina, and his shriveled penis wasn't unnoticed by Alan, as was the fact that his body would produce enough meat for the whole team. One of the dark bodied creatures circled Alan's right flabby tit with its claw, leaving a slight marking and the others nodded. It passed the human to the one beside him, this one circled its claw on his belly, this infuriated the next in line which between grunts signaled his belly, and drew a line with his claw splitting it into two halves. Other marked his right butt cheek. Alan realized with horror that these creatures were the temible Cannibals that roamed the continent of Africa, devouring the flesh of any pitiful human that dared to put a foot on the continent, and they were now each claiming their part of the result of the daily hunt. They erected a spear behind him and tied him to it by tight ropes, and carried him in the direction of the camp fire which originally he had thought as his savior, and planted the spear which he was tied to on top of the fire. "No! Don't cook me! It burns! It burns, it burns, it burns!" The boys looked at each other, worried expressions now replacing their mockery. Alan was on the floor, squirming and shouting, his eyes staring into oblivion. Was he going mad? Was it a seizure? One of the boys headed for the locker room, wrapped a towel around his waist, went into the hallway and called for help. Alan's state did not get any better. "No! Arrgh! Don't eat me! I'm burning!", he keep shouting out among other nonsensical cries. The help came in the form of the team's coach. He was a black burly man wearing a red cap, a white shirt, tracking pants and a whistle on his neck, his mouth surrounded by rough stubble. When he arrived at the showers, most of the boys were wearing a towel or already clothed, they pointed the coach to the naked white man squirming on the floor. "He's having a heat stroke! Quick, help me drag him outside!" As the shower room was still hot and humid, the coach stripped off his shirt, revealing a muscular chest full of hair. He positioned his feet at each side of Alan's head, crouched down and got hold of his arms. Two of the toweled boys got hold of one leg each. Struggling, they lifted the heavy body off the floor, and in a hurry transported Alan outside into the hallway, the coach leading the way with a quick step. The boys suffered the sight of Alan's bouncing hairy testicles and the pink worm above them flying in all directions. They wished the coach had turned the body around before lifting him off the floor, yet such horrible sight had to be endured if they wanted to save Alan's life. They passed by lots of spectators who looked puzzled at the three muscular bare chested black men carrying a naked fat white man down the corridor, his head bumping into the coach's bottom . They took him outside the building where water fountains and a hose were placed and lowered him into the ground. The coach grabbed the hose and sprayed cold water all over Alan's unconscious body, his nipples hardening and penis receding until it got lost in the forest of pubic hair. "It's not working, I'll have to perform CPR on him!", the coach yelled. He sat on his knees besides Alan and placed both hands in Alan's flabby chest and pushed it hard five times, then the coach took a mouthful of oxygen, held Alan's mouth open with his right hand and his nostrils closed with the other and expelled his oxygen into Alan's body. He keep repeating this process as the boys stared dumbfounded at the pathetic scene before them. The Cannibals' mouths salivated at the aroma of human flesh being cooked. They were anxious for the tasty meal to be ready. Round and stuffed humans were their favorite, but they were rare in Africa. However they were interrupted by the leader of the tribe. The Cannibals kneeled at his feet, but he ignored them and headed to the fire. A burnt corpse was all what remained of Alan. This made their leader really angry, he grunted and growled in an incomprehensible language and punched nearest Cannibal on its mask. He ordered the human to be retrieved immediately. Wooden buckets of cold water were used to put out the fire. A Cannibal grabbed the corpse and looked at it sadly: the precious cooked meat had been ruined by the water. He presented it to its leader. The leader, Alan's corpse in claw, requested the tribe shaman to elaborate a resuscitation potion. The concoction was ready in an instant. How course, such a thing as a resuscitation potion doesn't exist, and even if it did, it sure wouldn't be as easy to elaborate. Actually, the concoction could be considered just a regular mouthwash. Cannibals' stomach's acids were always at high temperatures, this let them survive the cold winter nights on their bare skin. The reason the Cannibals wore masks was that, in their peculiar culture, showing the front of your head in public was considered a rude offense, even worse than sticking your dick out and pissing all over fellow Cannibals, as the tight decorated loincloths were worn just as a symbolic way to avoid distractions and increase productivity. Their acids were also known for their curative properties, but pulling them out directly would just melt the individual in question. That's why the "mouthwash" was used. The leader took the flask with the resuscitation potion, and gave the shaman an annoyed look as if to say, "Do you mind?". The shaman took the hint and turned, giving the leader a bit of privacy. As the leader lifted his mask over his head, he was sure he noticed the shaman giving a quick peek. That old pervert. He put the mouthwash in his mouth and puked. Then let everything mix down for a little while, opened Alan's mouth with his free claw and spat his mouth's contents into Alan's.
***
Alan woke up groggy and confused. He felt like he had been burnt alive and then swallowed down the most putrid diarrhea. He realized he was in a Cannibal's grasp. This one looked different though, it had a much muscular and hairy chest than the others, and wore an upside down human skull as a necklace ornament. His mask was bigger and with more fancy decorations and vivid colours than the others'. But his mask was lifted, and he saw a Cannibal's face for the first time. A big, circular mouth, with four dirty yellow fangs scattered among it, filled with rests of bright green vomit. Gross. Above the mouth, two big round dots which acted as eyes. If it weren't for his putrid mouth, the eyes would have looked kind of cute, like a little puppy's, with no other visible features. If the Leader had known Alan was giving such a detailed description of his face he would have squirmed and run in shame. Suddenly, his vision blurred. The face of the Leader being replaced by a rugged black man's. His mouth surrounded by stubble. The hairy dark chest turning a more bright shade of brown. The lifted mask replaced by a red cap and the upside down human skull now a whistle. The cold night being replaced by warm sunlight on Alan's naked body. The man's head was leaning to his mouth, his lips in a puckered position. Alan gave out a high-pitched cry and shielded his face from his assailant with shivering hands. The coach laughed, glad the white man had recovered.
The day at the gym turned out to be a total disaster. He had suffered another one of his "episodes", this time on a shower room filled with naked black guys. The worst part is that the black coach told him that he had been giving him a CPR, which mean his lips really actually had made contact with another man's. A black man, to add ironic insult to injury. Although he didn't remember that very well, as his mind was in some sort of trance. He also had blurry images on his mind that didn't make sense, something involving masks with human skulls drawn on them, maybe a fire. It made his mind hurt, so he just tried to forget about them. He lifted the covers of his bed, ready for get some shut-eye and turned off the light from his lamp. The coach was a good person, and the boys, even after all their mockery, add offered their help too. Then, why? Why does he feel fear? It's like a trigger on his mind switched every time he made eye-contact with a person of a different race, like his mind was reminding him of some traumatic events that took place in a different place, in a different time, maybe even on a different life. He laid down on a bed too large for him, even with his prominent body size, as the bed was designed to accommodate two people. He wished he could have just a normal life, hanging out with his coworkers, get out more, maybe even meet that special someone, but most of all, live without fear.
***
The young Emperor was disgusted. Having to come down to a desolated, forgotten part of Africa, and meet with those savages! Those Cannibals, eating the poor humans like they were free fast food. He glanced at his smart wrist watch, it told him he was 23 minutes behind schedule. The nerve! He was supposed to be in Belgrade at 9 AM Local Time. Teehee. Belgrade. "White city". It sounded like the most wonderful place in the world! White means purity, every Emperor knows that, unlike that horrible yellow. The irony being that all Emperor's bodies are completely made of yellow. Disgusting. The young Emperor shuddered at the thought. The worst is that not everyone is the same shade of yellow, no sir. Some are bright and clear. Lucky bastards. The majority is "average" yellow. Picture them, thousands and thousands of Emperors, their dream of being a perfect white far, far away, not even being at the same level as the bright bastards but, BUT! That doesn't stop there. Believe it or not there are dirtier shades of yellow. Just like the first stream of urine of a Cannibal's prick in the morning, they can get much darker. He knew that very well, oh yes. Even if you do your best and never take off your standard white full body rubber suit, someone is going to find out your true colour sooner or later and tell everyone and their mother which one is it. That's when he gained his nickname, Brownface. Now, I know your mouth is hanging open at the the mention of the b-word, but that's what they really did call him. Not that he was really brown, of course, as that's physically impossible for an Emperor. If you aimed a bright flashlight at him in a room with a specific level of illumination, you could actually distinguish some dark yellow spots on him. But people are cruel and never bother with the details. The nerve! He adjusted his white bodysuit with his white gloves. The bodysuit already covered his hands, so the act of wearing the gloves could almost certainly be considered overcompensating, but give him a break, he had rough life as a kid. The contents of the large container behind him stinked more than brown itself, so he was very relieved when his guest finally appeared. He was a very large Cannibal, hairy chest, a loincloth tightly hugging his genitals, a human skull as a necklace (not bad for a fashion statement, but it was dirty and worn, dark spots ruining the poor, beautiful white colour) and the standard modesty mask. "Where is it?", asked the Emperor, disappointed the Cannibal came alone. "First. Food." were the words growled by the Cannibal, his finesse in languages a little rusty. The young Emperor slid open the door to the container, the foul stench becoming stronger. "Enough human meat for an entire army of Cannibals for a good while." The Emperor said proudly. "All of them used to wear XL sized clothes at the minimum". The mouth behind the modesty mask of the Leader of the tribe began salivating. "I got what you want", he growled. "So where is he?", inquired the Emperor. "Where is the Xenophobe?" "I know where he is", he replied. "His name is Alan". Behind the blank, featureless head of white rubber, the Emperor grinned: the fun was about to start...