Saturday, April 20, 2013
SUPREMACY ... WILL IT EVER END? ...
Warning ... There is a racial slur in this intro ... Please understand the word was written for accuracy of the time period and nothing more.
On a lazy summer night, crickets chirp along the bayou. A moist, heated breeze barely shifts the fabric of a hooded figure. Twigs snap under the highly polished black shoes. Sweat rolls beneath the collar of a once starched shirt, now clinging to the body underneath the robe.
Torches flicker in the distance as eerie shadows play against the tree trunks and branches. Voices murmur. Moonbeams reflect from the ten figures clad in similar attire.
“Good, we’re all here,”spoke a grizzled voice. “Our previous acts, aren’t getting through to our friend. We must take further action. Perhaps then ...”
“One would think the — ahem, unexpected death of Dubois would convince him,” another klansman said.
“Yes, and what about Doucet’s disappearance? Sheer genius on your part, your highest,” the shortest one said.
“Thank you. I must agree.” A laugh of pleasure erupted from his lips. “We’ve been more than patient with Broussard. It saddens me ... such a waste of a decorated war hero. But since his return he has embarrassed our kind one too many times.” He spits. “Imagine, allowing your son to attend a nigger’s party.” He spit again.
“Tonight we leave a calling card for our illustrious friend.”
* * * * *
A cross ignites on the front lawn of the Broussard house. The phone rings. A hushed voice whispers, “Look outside your window,” and hangs up.
David rushes into the living room and moves the lace curtain. An icy chill streaks through his heated body. He rushes to the front door and flings it open. Horror stretches over his face at the sight. Sweat drips down his neck and back. He turns and spots a white slip of paper.
Trembling fingers peel the folded note off the door. He holds his breath as he opens the paper.
YOU’RE NEXT, written in red ink, stains the white parchment. The paper slips from his fingers ...
What will David do? How will he and his family survive? He needs help ... but from who? Is there anyone he can trust?
RINGS OF TRUST ... a novel by Kittie Howard
Whoa, talk about intense. To think this actually happened and forms of it still do in the deep south. After Sixty years, the Klan is still very much alive. Sadly.
This type of story really spells out how far we’ve come and how far we still need to go to beat prejudice and racism. Can it be done? I hope I'm still live to see it. Don’t you?
Please drop by Kitty’s place and say hi... You’ll be glad you did.
Thanks again for visiting everyone. I hope you’ve enjoyed the varieties of intros this week. Only eight more to go. Phew... Lol.
Have a memorable day!