Skimpy and Weak.

On the way home from school, I eye out a nigger. Dirty things.

Good thing he’s on the other side of the road. Not on my footpath. They shouldn’t even be walking on these roads at all.  I’m glad I’m almost home; thinking of these niggers makes me sick to the stomach.

I walk in through the back garage, then through the laundry’s door and then try to be as quiet as I can on the journey to my room. I have my arm mid-twist or the doorhandle—“Cole!” Dad groans. Great. I hesitate, “Yeah, what?” I sighed in response. Dad started speaking in Afrikaans, telling me to do the dishes and that my brother was in charge as he’s going out to the shops to do who-knows-what. I was slightly surprised at the fact he hadn’t told me off yet today, but I shouldn’t get my hopes up. Maybe he’s had a couple of beers.

After dinner, I saw American History X was on and I sat myself down on the living room couch. About several minutes later, I got sick of hearing my family’s rambles in the background; personally I prefer my privacy over anything. So at that, I quietly excused myself from the couch and turned the TV off.

As if I’ve triggered some sort of impetuous atom-bomb, my father lunges towards me as if I’m on patrol and as usual; asks me pointless questions that neither of us really care about. He begins talking to me, I’m not listening. I really couldn’t care less. I descend my eyes from his and to his mouth. I intensify my gaze so much it looks as if it’s getting smaller. I pan out to his head—I never noticed how big his head was. Dad and I look so similar to him it sort of creeps me out. His dark eyes; pale washed out complexion and brown hair—I’m just lacking the facial hair—oh look, he’s paused.

“How are your history classes?” Dad asks with no emotion, squinting his eyes faintly.

“Good.” I mumble cueing to exit.

“Maths, English?”

“Do I look like a report?” I snap back.

“Naai! Don’t make me get out the stick—don’t you dare play smart with me. What are you studying in English?”

“Prejudice and Discrimination, we just finished reading How to Kill a Mockingbird.”

Dad swore; going on about how much the school system is idiotic. As much as I agree with him and enjoy discussing my hatred for the niggers, I’m just going to drift to my room as he continues the conversation with my mum.

It’s sort of funny how much I hate my English class, the teacher’s hot but she’s a total dipshit. She clearly doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Once again, I’m not listening. She has no firm grasp on the concept of multiculturalism. She is justifying that the kikes, and the niggers are defenceless and are innocent and don’t deserve to be ‘discriminated’ against. Last week I read up on a police report about a rape in Norway, for the last five years not one white has raped someone, all niggers and muslims.

Everyone at Haisley Collage is annoying and imprudent, including the teachers. But the several people I can actually withstand are these guys called Luther, Wyatt and Raymond. I always have to ascend my head slightly with them around, sucks cause’ I’m the shortest in the group—not by much, but just enough for it to be irritating. We hang around the back of the school, listening to music and talking about random crap…only two more years till graduation. Can’t wait.

I’m invisible in my year; I bet half the people don’t even know my name. But says myself, I don’t know half the people in my year anyway. They say people who reside in themselves and spend most of their time alone are more observant of others; this is a statement I believe in. Girls giggling and gossiping, Guys doing weights and comparing their biceps and triceps. I’m just leaning against the wall in the school hall, waiting for Jackson to get to class. He’s sort of my mate. He’s a bit of Bogan—the only person I acknowledge in the class—and there he is. Has he gotten taller since the last time we talked? Great.