Author Notes: For frz.
"Anti-racism is code for anti-white!" Elsa said. Right in the middle of class. She did not mean to say that. She looked around. People were staring. She had to do something.
Anna always told her to be herself, right?
Don't quote the copypasta. Think of something original.
"I mean, if we examine things objectively, we find the inhabitants of certain other continents really do have lower IQs on average. It's far more unreasonable to impose the same expectations we have for white people or, say, East Asians. These two races possess enough intellect to create civilization. Others do not. We see consistent failure to produce proper societies in other races. And this is the obvious result! Degeneracy and cultural collapse!"
Elsa took a deep breath. Elsa was surrounded by a sea of angry faces. Someone stood up on the other side of the lecture hall, a blonde. Elsa was about to continue when she was interrupted by a loud, high-pitched screech.
"How DARE you?" screamed the blonde.
She had horn-rimmed glasses and green eyes. And a red face. A very, very red face. She was biting her lip as her face turned redder and redder. The girl was panting hard. Elsa glared at the blonde, while the girl raised a hand. She needed a moment. Her breaths got more even and steady. Eventually, she looked Elsa dead in the eyes.
"Don't you realize these people don't have the same opportunities you do? You're white in a First World country! You have an unbelievable amount of opportunity. You can't blame these people for not being intelligent. Look at yourself. You're being educated in one of the finest institutions in the United States. Many of these people don't even have schools. And they're malnourished, which is known to damage brain development. Even if they wanted to come here, they wouldn't be able to afford it-"
"Bullshit! They can't get in here because they're not capable, plain and simple. Reitherman University works hard to get all the minorities it can, and it can never get enough, even with affirmative action lowering standards. And that's because these hordes of smart minorities just don't exist."
"You're just saying that because you're white and can't see past your own privilege," said the girl.
"I earned everything I have," hissed Elsa. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the professor grimace and raise a hand.
"You didn't earn your skin color. You didn't earn all the centuries of world dominance thanks to European imperialism and its exploitation of poor native labor. Anti-racist measures are literally the least white people can do to make amends. White people have to make amends. It's the right thing to do."
"By letting them flood into white countries? By letting them destroy infrastructure carefully built up through the blood and toil of generations-"
"-black generations, enslaved and forced to do the bidding of White America! This country was built on the backs of slaves!"
"-our ancestors would we… that happened hundreds of years ago! It's Africa for the Africans and Europe for everyone, right? This isn't humanitarian. This is genocide. The premeditated, mass mixing of races is nothing more than extermination."
The girl's jaw dropped.
"You call that genocide? Real genocide is what happened to my ancestors. What you're talking about is love. What I'm talking about is the systematic imprisonment and annihilation of peoples to prop up the stability of an inherently destructive and hateful regime."
Elsa couldn't believe it. She was bringing up the six gorillion.
"Right, yeah, the experience of a few Jews justifies the extermination of an entire race, even though everyone responsible is already dead. Stop the tears, Jew," said Elsa.
"Excuse me, my people were exterminated en masse, too-"
"Right, show me the proof."
"-and the world just watched. Don't you realize consensual sex and… and... non-consensual murder are different?! I – just – what – I don't even – I can't handle this."
The professor cleared her throat. Her face was buried in the textbook.
"Ladies, this is a mathematics course. I'm sure you're very passionate about... things... but there is a time and a place for everything, and this is most certainly not the place nor the time. Now, if everyone would turn to page 375?" said the professor.
Elsa looked around. People were staring at her. Many of them had their phones out. She suddenly felt a heavy weight pulling her down. It was all being recorded, every moment of it.
Of course it was. Two hundred and thirty-seven people, or approximately two hundred, or about four hundred eyes drilling deep. Some people were silent, others muttering. All of them, all of them now subsumed into one faceless mass of churning, roiling flesh, a hundred-handed thing ready to reach out to destroy the Other. She should've felt at home. She didn't. She was struck by an overwhelming feeling of hollowness, like her essence had been scooped out.
Her skin was pierced all over by a thousand prickling needles, pieces of her leaking out through the holes.
She rushed out as fast as she could once the lecture was over. But it wasn't fast enough. The blonde was already storming up to her, one hand balled into a fist, the other shaking an index finger accusingly.
"How dare you say such awful, hurtful things in class in front of everyone? Why don't you think about your words? Is it because racists don't ever think? Is it because they never had to? Because their slaves always did all the work and now that imperialism is over, they can't handle the real world? Shitlord!" screamed the blonde.
"Just leave me alone, okay? I'm really busy, I have places to be. Please, please, don't bother me. I just... I can't, alright?" said Elsa.
"If you don't want to be held accountable, you shouldn't oppress others! Get back here!" shouted the girl.
"Look, I have a class in five minutes and two more immediately afterward. I have to go."
"And they had to be free! But just like Pharaoh, you refuse to let my people go! So, like Moses, I'll have to bring the fury. The froggy fury!"
"What are you even talking about?" asked Elsa.
"I'm talking about you using your white privilege to get-"
"-to get what?"
"-your unearned-"
"My unearned what? My unearned scholarship? Or the unearned grades that earned it, because standards are so much lower for white people. Maybe it's all the wealth I have from being white - I just love the run-down shithole aesthetic of my house. It's authentic. I'm so, so very happy you helped me check my privilege. So. Very. Happy."
The blonde opened her mouth then closed it. She looked thoughtful. Elsa waved her hand in front of the blonde's face, but received no response.
Elsa decided to beat a hasty retreat.
Elsa opened the front door. It had been several hours since the ordeal. Mom was there, clipping coupons. Cobwebs were gathering next to the fridge. Elsa quickly removed them. She pulled up a chair, flipped it around, and sat at the table. The linoleum of the kitchen was browning but still functional.
"Did you take your medicine?" asked Elsa.
"Of course Elsa, you don't need to worry about me," said Idunn.
"What kind of a daughter would I be if I didn't worry?" asked Elsa.
"Oh, Elsa. You always were a good girl," Idunn said.
"Were? I'm not anymore?" said Elsa, mock offended. Then she remembered the blonde. Her heart sank. Her face went pale.
"Elsa? You look tired, what's wrong?" asked Idunn.
"Nothing mom. I've just had a rough day," said Elsa, "and it's been a bit of a mess. Everything has been a bit of a mess."
"You shouldn't work yourself so hard! Your health is the most important thing, not mine. Who am I anyways? Just a silly old woman past her time," said Idunn, smiling.
"Don't say that!" said Elsa, grimacing.
"I'm sorry," said Idunn.
"No, I'm sorry. It's just... ugh. How was the doctor?" asked Elsa.
"It was fine. He said I should visit a specialist, but I said it was too expensive," Idunn said.
"Go back and tell him you want the specialist," said Elsa.
"But Elsa..." said Idunn.
"No ifs, ands, or buts. You need the specialist? You'll get the specialist," said Elsa, standing.
"It's so expensive!" said Idunn.
"It doesn't matter. College was expensive too, right? But I got a full ride and a stipend. I'll find a way, Mom."
Elsa walked out of the kitchen, down the hallway. She put her hand to her forehead and sighed. That scholarship was toast, wasn't it? She could've puked, but that wouldn't have accomplished anything. So she didn't. The only thing she could do was keep her chin up. Chin up, eyes forward. Hard work and a quick wit, that's what Father always said.
Elsa went to the bathroom and puked. Her tears mixed with the vomit in the toilet bowl. She bashed her head against the seat, once, twice, three times. She stopped. Briefly, she saw the face of her father in the white porcelain, warped and obscured by dirt, his brow furrowed in disappointment. He would have had the answers, but she didn't. She screamed. She tried to apologize, her words slurring and mixing together into incoherent nonsense, but couldn't. Then she threw up again. She undressed and sat herself in the tub, turning on the shower head, which rained down upon her. Little rivulets of water ran down her bare body, danced their way downwards, and collected on the white porcelain below. Cold sweat mixed with warm water and dry dust, leaving small black streaks on her body, which soon too disappeared, washed away by the coming of more raindrops. Elsa's body shook with silent sobs. She turned off the water and sat quietly for a good five minutes. Finally, slowly, deliberately, she stood. She leaned against the bathroom walls for support, stepped out onto the floor. She felt the cool tiles beneath her feet. She wiped herself clean of water droplets, especially around the eyes. She dressed herself again.
Elsa went to the mirror and looked at herself. Her eyes were red. She washed her face with cold water and left. She took a deep breath and a long look at her sister's door. She resisted the temptation to knock – knocking would be useless. Anna was away, as she usually was. Doubt nibbled at the back of Elsa's mind. Anna was quick to reassure her, but Elsa knew how dangerous that neighborhood could be. And she knew the contempt they had for a uniform, even if the girl wearing it was the sweetest thing in the world, who would never do anything ugly, who was always there when you needed her. It wasn't that Elsa doubted the stopping power of 9mm – far from it. No, she doubted her sister's ability to fire a shot in anger.
And at the end of the hallway, her room. The paint on the door was peeling, but there was no point in paying for little vanities. The doorknob had broken a few times before, but she knew how to fix it. She stepped inside. The room was illuminated by an eerie electric blue light, the glow coming from her computer's monitor. In the corner, a Mosin Nagant sat lazily on several boxes of ammunition. Books were scattered on the floor, some frivolous, most practical. Most practical indeed. She eyed the computer warily. Some other time, it would have to come some other time. Perhaps after Ron Paul made anime real. She looked at the mess of machinery in what was intended to be a closet. Broken devices sat on piles of scrap and wires, all of it scavenged from what the labs threw away. On the shelves were various boxes of chemicals, gifts from generous and grateful professors. She had been the star pupil of many of her professors.
Had been, she was certain. Now she had to work. One of these contraptions had to be her ticket out.
She refused to believe in any other possibility. Outside, the clapping of thunder.
Away, far away, in distant lands, through hills forgotten by time, muddy waters roiled, near full to bursting. Brown hands worked, frenetic with activity, stacking sandbags, the sand inside as inconstant as the waters, hoping they would be enough. Bit by bit, the waves grew, as did the walls, until it seemed like they grew to match each other in strength, each defying the other as mortal foes so often do. Hope grew with each thumping impact of sand against sand, and it sank with each rising of the waters.
Above, dark clouds gathered, roaring with anger. Rain came down in thick sheets, slicing downwards with the howling of the wind, stinging little dark dots into the earth. Still, the waters grew. Still more distant was a hospital. Even in the best of times, barely half of the staff worked. Some of the wards hadn't been updated since the fall of the Raj. Lights flickered as uncertain candles. The lullaby of humming electricity grew dimmer and dimmer in the maternity ward, before it wished the children good night. Then all was dark, the night only occasionally shattered by white flashes filtered through blinkered shutters, and quiet too, save for the whiplash raging of the winds outside and the rumbling of the skies.
Author Notes:
"At least give her cancer!" - Joma, 2015