Victor was high again. He wasn’t entirely sure anymore what he had taken, but some combination of potent chemicals was making everything fucking amazing. Motes of fire exploded into the faces of people long since dead in his peripheral vision. Victor was certain that these ghosts had been summoned by the paint he had been huffing since breakfast. Victor slapped himself in the face as hard as he could, but discovered he was incapable of feeling pain. “You need to kill a black man,” said the disembodied flaming face of his great grandfather. Well, he didn’t say black man, but Victor knew what he meant. Victor smiled and felt his smile crack open the sides of his face. Victor and the ghosts got inside his luxury sedan and went cruising.
Jonathan was having dinner with his family. It wasn’t dinner for Jonathan, he worked the third shift as a security guard at a casino, but it was for his family and he had always insisted on the family having dinner together. Jonathan was telling his son to finish his peas when they heard the crash outside.
Jonathan ran to the front window with his family on tow. On the front lawn they saw a white sedan had crashed into the small fountain in their front yard.
“Call 911 Martha,” Jonathan said. “James, stay inside I’m going to see if they’re alright.”
Victor was a god. He had suspected it before but he was sure of it now. “A mortal would have surely died,” said his best friend from high school sagely. He would know, after all he had died in a crash very much like this one. Victor got out of his car and stumbled onto the lawn.
“Just stay there man,” Jonathan said. “I’ve called the paramedics. Are you ok?”
“Shut your mouth black man!” Victor screamed. Well, he didn’t say black man, but Jonathan knew what he meant. Jonathan began backing slowly towards his house, but Victor charged for him. They fell onto the lawn together Victor clawing and biting at him.
Jonathan reached around blindly and his hand found a stone garden boarder. He grabbed it and slammed it into the side of Victor’s head. Jonathan pushed the smaller man off him and scrambled through his front door, slammed it behind him and locked it. “Martha,” he shouted, “get the other door.” Jonathan went into his bedroom and unlocked the safe he kept in the closet with his work uniform. His hands shook as he removed his gun from the safe and loaded it.
Victor was shocked. Tears streamed down his face. The rock had not hurt, Victor now knew gods could not feel pain, but he was shocked and hurt that some piece of shit had dared to strike him. Victor rose from the lawn and pounded on the front door. “Don’t you know who I am,” he screamed. “Come out here and let me kill you!” Victor slammed his shoulder into the door. He did so again and again. He felt something pop unpleasantly in his shoulder and his left hand fell to his side uselessly. Still he kept slamming the door until the wood around the deadbolt gave way. Victor smiled then.
Jonathan stood on the other side of the door, feet firmly planted in a marksman’s stance, his gun on Victor. “One more step,” he said, “and I shoot.”
“Guns can’t hurt gods, black man,” Victor said. He didn’t say black man, but you get the idea. He started forward and Jonathan fired three controlled shots. Victor fell to the floor to the sound of approaching sirens. Jonathan sighed and lowered his gun, he did not put it away, but relaxed his shoulders.
Jonathan stared in horror as hooded white robed figures leapt from the gunshot wounds in Victor’s body. Figure after figure poured from the corpse in Jonathan’s living room. They raised up tiny confederate flags and set Victor’s underwear on fire.
The ambulance and police finally arrived to discover Jonathan frantically knocking over tiny crosses while the little men attempted to reignite Victor’s smoldering underwear. I’m afraid I’m going to have to place you under arrest sir,” said the police officer.
Jonathan stared agog at them his mouth open. “Excuse me?” he said.
“Yes sir, you are violating the civil rights of these people,” said the policeman.
“They’re setting fire to my living room!” Jonathan exclaimed.
“If your house catches on fire we will quite happily call the fire department, but I’m afraid you will have to come with us,” said the other policeman, who was, as a point of fact, a woman.
They took Jonathan’s gun from him and placed him in handcuffs. “Martha, call my lawyer, James finish your peas,” said Jonathan. On the way to the police car the policeman who was a man slammed Jonathan into the side of the car. “Fuck!” Jonathan shouted, “I think you broke my nose.”
“Whatever,” said the policeman and forced him into the backseat of the patrol car.
As he sat in the backseat tiny Black Panthers dripped from Jonathan’s nose.