Homo Inferior 2081

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Homo Inferior 2081 I tried to be human, but no dice. I was just a kid when the first Purity Laws were passed. It was a country over to the west, one whose name I had heard, but which meant nothing to me. I was a boy beginning to feel the first, confusing stirrings of interest in girls. To be truthful, it was not just “girls”: it was “THE GIRL”. Suzi. She was called Suzi. And she was beautiful: her eyes the deepest, thoughtful brown; her skin like chocolate silk; her smile like the sun breaking through storm-clouds, its glow spreading bright promise. Best of all, she liked me, too. We had known each other since forever. We had played together in the African sunshine from before we could walk properly, just neighbors' kids. My Dad was an industrialist, hers a government minister and all of us color-blind in the important sense. I didn't know I was carrying corrupted genes. She had always smiled at the way my paler skin burned so easily. She called me her vanilla ice cream, except when I'd burned and then she called me her strawberry ice cream. And she was so caring when she rubbed sunburn cream into my face and arms, muttering, “There, there.” We grew older; the loving care became something deeper and, at times, I burned in a new way, a different way, a way I did not understand. Suzi seemed different, too. It was exciting, it was new, it was delicious and it was scary. Things were happening to our bodies and we ignored the things that were happening to our country, our continent, our world. Things called economic collapse and global warming were happening around us, but that was for our parents to worry about and to fix. They were rich and powerful and we were safe from the drought-driven famines and the riots other countries w... ... middle of paper ... ...ing-gnome things were found only in the non-Africans!” Her voice carried a rising note of triumph at the end. In my heart, I knew it was to celebrate her recall of all the details, but in my ears, it sounded like a different sort of triumph. I was getting paranoid. It was a good thing. I would need to develop over-caution as a survival skill. Something else occurred to me. “What about ex-Africans? Caribbeans, African-Americans...” “There's lots of HSI's there. Anyone with non-African ancestors has corrupted DNA, so they are Inferiors, like you-” She froze at my stare. “I didn't mean... I meant... Oh, I am so sorry. Let me hug...” I put up my hands in front of my chest, as if defending myself, pushing her back without touching. It was too late. The word was out. She was beginning to use their vocabulary. Somehow, I knew it was just the first step to a deeper change.

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