Patriotic Colors

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I'm hiding this one from the mainpage, because it contains a fairly nasty ethnic slur. Click here if you want to go to the post page and read it anyway.[WARNING: FAIRLY NASTY ETHNIC SLUR BELOW. SKIP ON BY IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ IT.]

It wasn't so much that David minded people doing this sort of thing to him. Or rather, he reflected as he ducked back into the house, it wasn't quite so bad when it was just directed at him. Sometimes, going to work or out on errands, he'd catch a dirty look or a cruel remark; one time when he was pumping gas, he'd actually been approached by a belligerent drunk who'd threatened to deck him if he didn't go back to his own country.

Funny, David thought as he pulled a bucket out from under the kitchen sink. He'd been born and raised in Los Angeles, not an hour's drive from where he now lived. Same with his wife, for that matter. But try telling that to the redneck at the gas station.

"Dave?"

He winced, then turned to his wife. "G'morning, Sora. Didn't mean to wake you."

She rubbed at her eyes, voice still muzzy as she asked, "What are you doing? It's not even six yet, and you're going to clean something?"

"It's nothing, sweetie, go back to bed." He hefted the bucket, now full of soapy water, and grabbed the sponge from by the sink. "I was just out getting the paper, and I decided the, um. The steps could use a wash."

Sora looked at him, dismay flooding into her face and replacing the sleepiness. "Oh, David. It happened again, didn't it."

He nodded. "On the wall by the front door," he answered quietly. "I was hoping to get it cleaned up before you or the kids could see."

She moved slowly toward the door, and after a moment he followed. Together they walked out to the front porch and looked at the graffiti someone had left in the night.

SAND NIGGERS GET OUT, it read.

"We'll need my scrubber brush," Sora said finally, her voice oddly small. "And we'll have to work fast. There's only an hour or so till the girls get up."