Category Archives: Stories

Carol’s Christmas (final part)


Then, the house started shaking. Cupboards shook open and plates fell on the floor. The light flickered on and off. Yet Carol knew this was not an ordinary earthquake. In front of her, black smoke appeared intermingled with dancing shadows, and from it, a pale woman stepped out of the shadows, so decrepit and boney she might as well have been a skeleton. Pitch-black eyes gazed upon Amy from above a pointed nose. Carol was taken aback by this ghost’s appearance. ‘Are you… the ghost of Christmas Future?’ she asked.

The ghost merely nodded and extended its hand, comprised of long clawed nails. With some hesitation, Carol took them. Around them smoke and shadows appeared in loud, crackling waves, surrounding them in blackness.

The blackness rolled back and they were sort of standing in the house Carol was supposed to be that evening: her mom’s. But it was not like Carol was physically there; it was like she was watching a dark red movie with twists of smoke erupting from everything on the screen. Perhaps there was something about the uncertainty of the future that made everything so blurred? She could vaguely make out the company at the table: her mom, her sister, Eric, her uncle and his wife… And Carol in the near future, looking as stunning in the cocktail dress as Carol had hoped. She couldn’t make out the conversation, just shreds of it…
… So good to see you, how ARE you?…
….So the intern says: 500 mg of Eplerenone right? So I say: exactly right… If you want to kill him that is!’…
… *laughter*…
… More wine please…
… Isn’t Mason growing up fast!…
… Haven’t you had enough wine?…

Black waves engulfed the scene, then subsided again. They were in their mother’s bathroom. Eric had just flushed the toilet and was clumsily washing his hands. The door opened. Carol entered. She locked the door behind her. A vague sound in the distance: I don’t know if we should… Then, the sound of kissing, moaning. The sound of a zipper. A groan.

Eric appeared in the living room, hands in front of him, red lipstick on his pants. Then, the dinner table with its guests: shocked, in denial. Back to blackness.

Where were they? Must be Amy’s house… She could Eric and Amy… Amy was shouting… ‘how COULD you? With my sister for god’s sake!’… The sound of breaking plates… ‘Honey I don’t know I was drunk it happened so fast I really had no intention to’… ‘NO I’M SURE YOU JUST TRIPPED AND OOPS YOUR DICK FELL IN HER MOUTH FOR FUCK’S SAKE HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO US’…. More breaking plates…

…Amy sitting on the toilet, head in her hands. She is crying. In her right hand lies a pregnancy test. It is positive…

… Eric leaves the house with suitcases. Before entering the cab he turns back one last time… ‘how could you be such an idiot’ he mutters to himself…

Now where was she…? Oh she recognized this place al right; Saint Jude’s Hospital, in her medical office…. Future Carol sits behind her desk. Patients come and go in a blur, years fly by, Carol never leaves. Carol sits, listens, prescribes medication, all with a cold gaze in her face. Years go by in seconds, wrinkles appear in her face, her beauty fades and is replaced with an emotionless stare… Carol is now in a wheelchair. She is now in a nursing home. And next to her stands present time Carol, with red lipstick still on her lips.

And suddenly there was no more smokey red blurriness. Everything was in full color and sharp image; Carol was physically in the nursery home. It was so… Quiet and peaceful. Sunlight shone through the big glass windows. Birds tsjirped. Carol was standing in front of… Herself. Her old self, in a wheelchair. Old, wrinkled Carol. Young Carol hesitatingly dropped to her knees. She waved her hand in front of Old Carol. No sign of response. Then, Old Carol coughed, looked young Carol in the face and with venom in her eyes cracked: ‘whatdo you think you’re doing? Leave me alone you hag!’
– ‘I… I didn’t mean to…’
‘I don’t care what you mean, get lost, whore!’
Shocked, Carol stepped back, but just as she was about to turn around and run she felt a hand on her shoulders. It was a nurse.
‘Don’t worry about it, Ms. Andrews is quite the personality!’
– ‘Ye… Yes, I guess she is.’
‘Don’t fret yourself, it’s nothing personal. She’s like that to everyone.’
– ‘Is she?’
‘Afraid so…’ The nurse’s voice dropped to a hush: ‘life has a way of turning some people bitter and angry. Ms. Andrews is a prime example.’ She smiled. ‘Don’t worry though, we take good care of her! Are you related?’
– ‘Something like that, yeah…’
‘How nice. She hasn’t had a visitor in a long while! Last time was over a year ago, I think it was some patient whose life she’d saved, but he left in a rush after she started shouting at him. Such a shame.’
– ‘Yeah… A shame…’
The nurse observed Carol closely. ‘Well it seems you have a lot on your mind, I’ll leave you alone for now. If you need anything I’ll be at the counter.’

Back came the shadows, eating up the nursery home. They receded to reveal a cemetery. Carol now stood in front of a gravestone. On that gravestone was etched: here lies Carol Andrews. Nothing else. No beloved daughteror beloved sisteror beloved mother.

Why would there? She was none of those. She had only brought pain to those around her.

And as Carol fell to her knees, everything she had been through finally caught up with her: she cried. She cried like a baby, her entire body shaking, until all her carefully applied make-up was irreversibly ruined and she had no more tears left.

Next to her the ghost of Christmas future silently watched. Carol looked up to her and pleaded: ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I want to make things right. Please tell me I can still make things right.’ The ghost said nothing, but extended her hand. Carol took it. The cemetery disappeared. Carol found herself back in her bedroom. No sign of any ghost. On her make-up table lay the lipstick. She picked it up and took a long look at it. Then, she looked at her run-out face in the mirror. She laughed. She laughed louder and heartier than she had in a long time. There is still time to make things right.But I can’t show up looking like this! Carol rushed into the shower cabin.

Amy curiously inspected the pan with poaching pears. ‘Looks good mom!’ Mother lighted up. ‘They do, don’t they? We’re almost ready for the first dish!’
Amy looked around. ‘Yes, once Carol has arrived. It’s nothing like her to be late.’
– ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure she’s just around the corner.’ The bell rang. ‘Ah’, said mother, ‘if you’re talking about the devil…’
Amy opened the door and there was her sister, dressed in jeans and a green Christmas sweater with built-in lights. ‘Oh my god Amy it’s so good to see you’ Carol blurted out, and Amy was given a long hug she had not expected. ‘Yeah it’s good to see you too sis’ she meekly replied.
When Carol entered the living room she was all smiles and warmness. ‘Hey Eric, hello uncle Will, hey mom, heeey little Mason how are you doing big man!’ Amy was very surprised; her sister had never taken an interest in their son but now she was kneeling next to him, playing with him! Amy joined them. ‘… Is everything okay sis?’ she asked.
Carol giggled. ‘yes everything is great actually. I think I realized that my priorities in life have been slightly off… I want to spend more time with the people I love.’ Amy was stunned. ‘… Has… Has something happened at work?’
– ‘Let’s not talk about work. Work is overrated anyway. I work way too much. I’m going to work less. Let’s talk about fun stuff!’
‘Who are you and what have you done with my sister??’ Amy demanded.
Carol laughed. ‘Come here sis, I want to give you a hug’ and she pulled Amy close. As their upper bodies were interlocked, Carol said: ‘I’m sorry sis.’
– ‘sorry for what?’
‘For everything… For not being there for you, for being a bitch… I’m sorry.’
– ‘…’ Amy’s eyes teared up. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘It’s okay.’ Carol closed her eyes. It was only after a minute or so that they separated. ‘By the way’ said Carol in a conspiratory tone, ‘I have a feeling Mason won’t be only child for much longer…’
– ‘What?? What makes you think that?’
‘I don’t know… Call it feminine intuition.’ Carol winked.
Their mother’s voice sounded throughout the room: ‘everyone, to the table, first course is served!’ Happily, everyone acquiesced.

And so it was that the family Andrews, for the first time in a very long while, spent Christmas eve together in laughter, joy and love.

The end

Carol’s Christmas (part 2)


As Max was enthusiastically munching away, Carol made a mug of tea and absentmindedly sipped on it. Her thoughts were with that Christmas eve so many years ago. Looking at that evening, so many years later, she had to admit she was being a bit of a bitch, even if she had all the reason in the world. But then again, that was such a long time ago… And besides, whose to say that that ghost wasn’t making her misremember things? Whose to say the ghost was real anyway?? She took a sip of her tea when, suddenly, the cabinet doors started to shake and the kitchen lights flashed. While Max continued eating as if nothing was happening, Carol, terrified, dropped her mug on the floor where it broke into ceramic pieces. In the middle of the kitchen a black hole formed and grew until it turned into a human form: a beautiful blonde woman in a white dress showing only the slightest hint of transparency. And of course, there was the fact that she was floating above the kitchen floor. Carol blinked.
‘I’m sorry my dear’ the apparition said, ‘I didn’t mean to scare you. My predecessor told you I would come, right?’
– ‘… R-right.’
‘Ah good to hear! Shame about the shards on the floor, but you can clean them when we return. I am the ghost of Christmas present. Come dear, we have places to go.’
The ghost of Christmas present took Carol’s hand and suddenly Carol felt light as a feather, in fact she was shocked to find that they were rising up in the air. Her dog did not seem to mind a bit and before Carol could say goodbye to him they flew throughthe ceiling into her (never used) guest room, and again through the roof into the open air. Strangely, Carol did not feel cold.

 Higher and higher they soared and Carol gazed with wonder at the city lights below; how beautiful and small everything was from up here! Even the skyscrapers looked like Lego blocks from up here.
‘Where are you taking me?’ Carol asked.
– ‘You’ll see.’

They soon left the city and followed a road far beneath them, which, lighted up by car headlights, reminded Carol of a yellow writhing snake. She marveled at the scenery, with its green pastures, tiny houses and intertwining roads. Soon enough they lowered altitude to arrive at a village. Lower and lower they went, and as the houses regained their normal size Carol realized their destination: ‘this is where my sister lives!’ she cried.

‘Indeed it is’ the ghost of Christmas Present said. They landed on the front lawn of Amy’s house. ‘Let’s see what your sister is up to, shall we?’ she said as she opened the front door. ‘Don’t worry, they can’t see us.’

Carol entered the living room, which was decorated with lights and garland and evergreen foliage. Next to the gas fueled fireplace stood a beautiful Christmas tree. Carol’s own house had no decorations at all – not that she had the time for such frivolities anyway. Yet she couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at the coziness she saw here. Mason sat in front of the TV, watching some children’s Christmas special. From upstairs she could here muffled voices. They sounded angry. This, Carol wanted to investigate.

 As she walked up the stairs, she distinctly heard Amy’s voice:
‘… and you bet we’ll have to discuss her ‘blooming career’ as a cardiologist for hours on end!’
they were talking about her!
– ‘honey I’m sure it won’t be that bad’ responded Eric.
‘of course it will! It’ll just be hours of her telling stories about this patient she saved and that patient she cared sooo much about. Like she’s an archangel. She does it every year!’ Amy was aggressively sorting the laundry.
– ‘well maybe a bit, but her career is kind of impressive…’
‘And you know what’s the worst about it? I don’t think she even likes her career!’
– ‘well honey I think that’s a bit…’
‘No really! I know my sister. I know when she’s happy and when she’s unhappy. The way she talks about her career, I think she hates it. But she won’t admit it, nooo no. Instead she’ll just talk about it evenmore, like she’s trying to convince herself she really does like what she’s doing. And mom loves having a doctor in the family, so she won’t say anything.’
– ‘Hmmm, I don’t know, we shouldn’t jump to hasty conclusions.’
‘But you know, I could get passed all that’ Amy huffed, ‘I really could, if it weren’t for the fact that every year she so obviously flirts with you.’
Eric turned red. ‘Ho-honey, I don’t know what you’re talking about. She’s just being friendly.’ Amy turned around, her eyes fire: ‘just like she’s been ‘friendly’ with every ex she’s ever been with.’
– ‘Babe you’re overreacting. Really, there’s nothing going on. You’re acting crazy!’
Amy lowered her eyes and shoulders. ‘I dunno. Maybe I am. I just… I want us to be a happy family…’ She walked up to Eric and rested her head on his chest. ‘I just want to love my sister. Why does she have to make things so difficult?’
Erik stroked her hair, overcoming his confusion. ‘Hey hey, I’m sure things will be fine.’
‘OK,’ repeated Amy, ‘I’m sure things will be fine.’

Carol witnessed the exchange in silence, but inside she was screaming. How dareher sister talk about her in that way? How dareAmy suggest that she didn’t like her job? Was her sister thathateful? After all, Amy was only a receptionist while she saved lives. Yeah, that probably was it…
‘But willthings be fine?’ The voice of the ghost of Christmas present shook Carol out of her thoughts. ‘What?’ she stammered.
‘What I just said: will things be fine?’
– ‘Well… Yes… Of course. Although I am disappointed of how jealous she apparently is of my career.’
‘Oh, she’sthe one being jealous? What about her accusation of you flirting with her husband?’
– ‘She’s exaggerating. I’m a natural flirt is all.’
‘I see… Well, we’ll be heading back home. The final ghost will be visiting you soon.’ She took Amy’s hand and soon enough they were flying miles high, back to the city. Amy said nothing.

Back in her own kitchen, Amy absentmindedly swept together the mug shards while Max sniffed the floor besides her. The ghost of Christmas present had disappeared, but her remarks lingered. Was she the one who envied her sister? Who would want to be a receptionist anyway! Or perhaps that wasn’t what the ghost meant… But whatever the ghost did mean, Amy was unable to put it into words. Perhaps… Perhaps her sister was not as lonely than she was. Perhaps there was some truth in that. But a successful career demanded sacrifices, and it wasn’t like those sacrifices were a problem for anyone but her, were they?


Carol’s Christmas (part 1)

‘T was the day of Christmas and Carol Andrews was sitting in front of the mirror, applying her favorite red lipstick. She was going to spend her evening with her family, and for reasons known yet unknown to Carol, she wanted to look her utmost best. The make-up on her face was exquisite and the cocktail dress hanging from the coat hanger would surely put her at the center of attention. Carol was by no means the prettiest girl in the world, but she’d always be one of the prettier ones.

Now it was usually the case that Carol did not have time to make herself as pretty as she was doing this snowy Christmas day. After all, Carol had a busy job as a cardiologist at Saint Jude’s hospital. Besides, she had learned soon enough that looking pretty only distracted people from taking her serious as a doctor.

But today was different. Carol had taken hours to prepare for the family dinner. So immersed she was in her task that she had even neglected to feed Max, her dog, who was now scratching the bedroom door and making crying sounds, indicating he was hungry. But Carol did not hear him, so fixated was she on her image in the mirror.

‘Aren’t I pretty?’ Carol asked aloud. To her bewilderment, a child’s voice answered: ‘yes you are.’ With a shock she turned away from the mirror and saw a young girl in long robes standing behind her in the bedroom. ‘how did you get in here!?’ Carol cried.
– ‘I’ve been standing here for a while’ the girl promptly declared. ‘You just didn’t notice me.’
‘What? No, I mean how did you get in my house?’
The girl shrugged. ‘I enter any house I want to.’ Angry, Carol stood up and grabbed the girl by her shoulder. That would be, if there was any shoulder to grab, for Carol’s hand went straight through the girl as if there was only air. ‘OHMYGOD’ she yelled.
‘Please don’t shout,’ said the girl. ‘I know, I’m not human. I am the ghost of Christmas past. Nice to meet you!’ The girl made a slight knee bow while she held her robes.
Carol stared in disbelief. ‘I… I.. Did not… know… ghosts are real?’ The girl giggled. ‘Of course we are!’
– ‘We?’
‘Yea silly, I’m only the first of three Christmas ghosts who will visit you today. Come, I’ve got something to show you!’ The girl grabbed Carol’s hand (which suddenly felt as fleshy and real as any hand) and immediately the room started to spin, dizzying Carol.

When spinning stopped, they were no longer in Carol’s bedroom, but instead stood in a living room Carol immediately recognized. ‘But… This is mom’s old house!’ she said. ‘With her furniture!’ Amazed, Carol walked around and touched everything she thought was but a distant memory. ‘It even smells like it used to!’ She turned to the girl. ‘What’s going on?’ But just as the ghost was about to answer, two girls came running in the living room screaming.
From the kitchen sounded a loud woman’s voice: ‘BE NICE GIRLS.’
Mother’s head appeared in the doorway: ‘Carol you will give your sister back her diary right NOW if you know what’s good for you. It’s Christmas eve for god’s sake…’
With a pout young Carol gave her sister back the diary, while old Carol stared at the scene in disbelief. ‘But… that’s me! Teenage me! And teenage Amy! And my mother!’
‘Yep’ said the ghost of Christmas past. ‘They can’t see you though!’ Carol nonetheless crouched and waved her hand in front of younger Carol’s face, who had now royally installed herself on the couch. But young Carol continued as if adult Carol was invisible indeed.
‘I don’t need to read your stupid diary,’ she said, ‘I know what’s in it anyway.’
-‘Nu uh.’
‘Uh huh. It’s about Eeeric.’
Amy didn’t say anything but turned red like Rudolf’s nose.
‘Aaah I knew it I knew it. Amy and Eric sitting in a tree K I S S I N G!’
– ‘Shut up! You’re doing the same thing with Jackson!’
Young Carol shook her head. ‘Nah, I broke up with him. The long distance thing wouldn’t have worked out anyway. Besides, who wants to be tied down when you can par-TAY?’
-‘ohmygod but he is so cool!’
Carol shrugged. ‘So? It’s not like he’s the only guy in the world. Besides, he wants to stay here his whole life. How boring isthat!’
– ‘your guy standard is way too high’
‘and yours too low. I mean, Eric, really? He’s as boring as watching needles fall out of a pine tree.’
– ‘take that back!’
‘Nu uh.’
Amy jumped on her sister but was quickly overpowered and started screaming as Carol pulled her hair. Their mother rushed in the room and pulled them apart. ‘Ladies, we are having a PEACEFUL Christmas family dinner and I won’t have you two tearing into each other, are we clear?’
– ‘it’s not family dinner, dad’s not here’ Carol spit out.
‘You’ll have dinner with dad tomorrow. Today it’s just the three of us.’
– ‘I don’t wanna have dinner with you losers.’
‘ExCUSE me?’
– ‘You heard me.’ Carol stood up. ‘I HATE you and I don’t want to have dinner with you.’ She ran off to her room. Amy started to tear up, and her mother hugged her. ‘There there.’ ‘Why does she have to be like that?’ Amy sobbed. Mother sighed. ‘Your sister has taken it all a bit harder than you have. I’m sure she’ll be fine. I’ll talk to her in a bit. You go watch the stew, make sure it’s not overcooking, okay sweetie?’
Amy nodded.

Adult Carol had watched everything with big eyes. ‘I remember this’ she said to the ghost. ‘This was the first Christmas after mom and dad split. God I hated my family.’
The ghost turned her head slightly sideways. ‘Hated, as in past tense?’
– ‘Well, I mean… We never really talked about it, I guess. Every Christmas since has been awkward. Like, only slightly preferable to staying at home alone. I guess it’s better to be alone together than alone… alone.’
The ghost turned her head sideways. ‘Your sister seems nice!’
– ‘Yeah, she is, isn’t she… Always so god damn perfect.’
‘Seemed to me she was envious of you.’
– ‘Yeah… I guess she was… Funny how times change.’
‘Teehee!’ The ghost girl twirled on her feet. ‘Well it’s time for us to go back! Soon my friend will visit you!’ Again she grabbed Carol’s hand, the room spun, and when the spinning stopped Carol was back in her bedroom.
‘Goodbye Carol, it was nice to meet you!’ the ghost waved her hands as she faded into nothingness.

 Carol watched curiously as the ghost disappeared and stood motionless, sunken in her thoughts. What had just happened? Am I hallucinating? Did what I think happen really happen? She turned to the mirror and examined her face. She touched her lips. Red lipstick stuck on her fingers. What was I doing here in the first place? A loud cry from her dog tore her out of her thoughts. Ohmigod, Max!Carol realized she had totally forgotten about him. She rushed to open the door and gave him a big hug. ‘Who’s a good boy, you’re a good boy, yes you’re my good boy!’ Whatever just happened could wait, she had to feed Max.


Batman is a failed loser

As the iconoclasm continues, time to get rid of false heroic symbols, or at least point out what they really are so fanboys have no misconceptions over their standing in the socio-sexual hierarchy.

All heroes fall somewhere on the Superman / Batman scale: either they are born with superpowers they learn to control, or they are born without superpowers but become super anyway. The trope is valid, the possibilities for stories endless.

But Batman is a bad representation of the hero without superpowers, for he is a beta cuck soyboy cooked up by leftist beta nerds. Why?

Because he makes it his moral rule to never kill.

It is such a stupid rule. Such a silly, nonsensical, leftist rule.

Here you have the Joker, right. Batman’s arch nemesis. Kills for fun, robs a bank, murders hundreds of people, cackles while doing it. And what does Batman do? A slap on the wrist. ‘Bad Joker! Don’t do it again!’ Lol.

According to The Rule, Batman can’t kill the Joker because then he’ll lose. This is incredibly stupid. In fact Batman loses 24/7 because he follows this rule, allowing Joker to literally get away with murder over and over again, demonstrating that Batman is a failure as guardian of Gotham.

Leftists of course love this trope, because their favorite strategy is making enemies adhere to nonsensical rules. The Joker milks The Rule over and over without Batman ever learning, thus the Joker is the real hero of the series and Batman is a failed beta cuck who can barely tie his own shoes.

Left vs right II: shitpoasting

So this was supposed to be a blogpost trilogy. And I’m pretty sure I had something for this. I just forgot what. Something something leftist scum something. Whatever. All my good memes are in the first post of the series.  Best Of The Week material if you ask me, if only there were such an award to be handed out by the internet! Unlike this post, which will be improvised shitpoasting.

I have found that leftists cheat at games. Literally. Try play a board game with friends. Watch the leftist among them cheat. It’s DNA baby.

The guy behind r/K-selection theory, Anonymous Conservative, impresses me with his writing quantity. 2-3 posts a day! I read his book a while ago. Enjoyed it. I am also convinced that leftism and rightism are genetic and can be traced neurologically. I am however less convinced that r/K theory explains it all. Too many holes in the theory as it is. My main issue is leftists are supposedly like rabbits so they have lots of children – but they don’t, they substitute kids with cats. In fact per stereotype K-selected Christian families are having lots of children. Nigerians are having lots of kids, but if r-selection is adaption to abundance of resources how come Nigerians in scarce-resource Africa are not K-selected like the lions with which they share their continent? I dunno, the comparison wrings on a couple of levels. For the moment it works better as a fable.

Why lions eat rabbits

Once upon a time a strong lion lived with his family on the countryside. The lion took good care of the land, so his cubs were healthy and well-fed. One day a family of rabbits moved in next door. The friendly lion went to greet father rabbit and said to him: ‘you seem friendly, but how do I know you will not steal the food of my land?’ The rabbit reassured him: ‘oh powerful lion, you are so much stronger than I am, how could I dare steal your food?’ The lion was satisfied.

Yet as time passed food started disappearing. The lion went to the rabbit and said: ‘are you stealing my food?’ ‘of course not!’ replied the rabbit. ‘There is however a fox roaming the countryside. Perhaps he stole your food!’ The lion, feeling bad for blaming the rabbit, apologised and left.

But more and more food disappeared from the land. The lion’s cubs grew ill. The lion, seeing the rabbit’s family had grown explosively, angrily went back to the rabbit and said to him: ‘my children are weak with hunger. I have never seen this fox you talk about, yet I have seen the full bellies of your children.’ The rabbit was shocked to hear of the lion’s misfortune and doubled down on his claim that this dirty fox is the culprit. He showed the lion a red herring with bitemarks — ‘these bitemarks belong to the fox!’ said the rabbit. The lion, not knowing how to deal with this piece of ‘evidence’, told the rabbit to leave his land alone.

But the food shortage continued and one day one of the lion’s cubs died. This was the final straw that broke the lion’s back; he rushed to the rabbit’s hole, only to find that all the rabbits had fled.

And that is why lions eat rabbits.

2 leftists walk into a bar

2 leftists walk into a bar. They order beers and talk about the birds and the bees. Soon the topic of conversation turns serious, philosophical. “You can never know absolute truth.” says the first. “Truth is subjective” replies the second, “we might be living in the matrix.” The first raises an eyebrow. “You can not know that. We know nothing. For all we know I don’t exist.” The second raises his voice: “How do you know you don’t exist? For all we know I don’t exist!” The first shakes his head. “no no that is all wrong. Reality is a narrative constructed by our biased perception. How do we even know this bar is real?”
The second one loudly puts down his beer on the bar. “Well how do we know the universe is even real!”

The men are silent for a moment. Clearly they are at a stalemate. The first breaks the silence: “I am a journalist for a prestigious newspaper. 2 million people read my articles.”
– “I host an influential tv-show” says the second, “also watched by 2 million people.” The men fall silent again.

“I have written about the dangers of global warming destroying our planet many times” says the first. “I have invited global warming experts on my panel” says the second.
“Well I had an African woman write a guest column once.”
– “Yes I had her on my show.”
“I have anonymously donated half a million dollars to Amnesty International. People don’t talk enough about how important freedom of speech is.”
– “I have, also anonymously, donated a similar amount to War Child. The things happening to these children is just too horrible.”
“I was the first to write about Trump’s connections with Russia.”
– “I often talk about the possibility of Trump launching World War 3.”

The first man takes out his phone, shows a picture of his wife. The second man in response shows a picture of his wife. They are equally mediocre. The stalemate continues.

The men sit for a while and stare into their half-empty glasses. The first man sighs, scrolls over to his bank account and shows it to the second man. The second man becomes triumphant and shows his bank account, which is larger. “Hah!” he exclaims, “told you so. We can not possibly know reality.” “Yeah”, says the first, “I guess you are right.”


Being a good storyteller is all about timing.

When Erin posted her story about racism she was scared she would alienate people. That people might not understand where she, a Southern privileged white woman, came from. But in the end her conscious weighed too heavy on her mind and she had no choice but to share her story.

And share she did.

She shared with us the many ways in which racism is still very much alive. How America’s first black first lady was insulted for her colour of skin. How people online made racist jokes like it was the most normal thing in the world and how this his sickened her on a personal level. She told us how blacks are still to this day rejected as ‘the other’, as people who we do want sitting at our table. Worse still, blacks are in fact admonished when they disrupt ceremony to speak out against injustice, as if attacking the status quo could even be done in a peaceful manner. Erin rightly pointed out that nobody seems to remember Martin Luther King was arrested 13 times for peacefully protesting.

After weaving a rich tapestry of observations she concludes from them that although it might seem strange, it is not the white supremacist who does the greatest damage to the black people’s freedom. No, like Martin Luther King said, it is the white moderate who through his daily naiveté and ingrained privilege continues to uphold the status quo that keeps the Negro down. Erin so ends her story with a spine chilling conclusion: racism lurks in all of us.

No wonder she was scared to tell her story.

It can only be attributed to the miraculous awakening of white consciousness that Erin’s story was received with so much love: more than 10.000 shares on facebook, over 350 likes from bloggers such as yours truly and almost 400 comments, most of them a variation of ‘Thank you! I wish I wrote this!’

This story, at least, has a happy ending.