The 'N' Word, Book 1 Read Online Free PDF

future white sons and daughters. I pay the price, so that they may be okay, at peace, and their rights upheld.
    Just then, the patrol car pulled from the curb and, not long during the slow quiet ride, they rolled leisurely past an old, leaden church, barely fit to stand. The windows of the drab, gray place were long and sallow like fatigued hound dog eyes, sullen as splintered wood framed them just so. A small cluster of people gathered around the place, some older ladies with flat, wide hips stuffed in floral print summer dresses and holding Tupperware containers and cheap, paper fans in their hands. Sweaty children, little boys laughed and hopped around in freshly ironed shorts and dapper shirts with tiny pockets.
    He surmised they must’ve been having a special service, perhaps it was the pastor’s birthday. His chops twisted and turned, forming a serpentine grin as he observed all the pure, white faces.
    He soon found himself staring into the eyes of a little girl, around the same age as his own. They simply glared at one another, the trance only broken by the scream of the church bell tolling, ringing out, and demanding to be heard over the roar of the patrol engine. His body oscillated lazily back and forth as the vehicle moved about the rural, bumpy road, jostling him to and fro like a mere pebble in an otherwise empty glass.
    Then, the church grew smaller and smaller, and so did that little girl who still stood there, watching him disappear, swallowed by the day and inequality of it all. The bell rang out once more. A woman took her by the wrist and dragged her along the slight incline of the dying grass towards the open front doors of the church. The little girl went along, but kept her eyes on him… kept her head turned in his direction until she was ushered inside, cloaked away from his view. The church bell’s scream kept echoing in the air, sending a slight chill down his spine as he slumped uncomfortably forward, now face to face with his fate.
    “Yes God… let the bell ring… Let. Freedom. Ring…”

Chapter One
    …Two weeks later
    T HE CIGARETTE WAS named Rita. He’d affectionately called her that as he moved the thing about between nimble fingers and glared down at the glowing, orange spark that seduced him with her smoldering heat. Her thin, white body was the thing he’d dreamed of, and the bitch being a hot red head never hurt. Yeah… Rita, a sexy siren; she almost made his dick hard.
    He gave all of them names as of late; it made the time go a bit faster. After all, boredom was the shit incubi were woven from. Wasn’t it once said it was the Devil’s playground? No truer words had ever been uttered. Given a place to play, boredom would destroy the mind of the most rational of men.
    Aaron had gotten a rude awakening upon his arrival. He was told the ol’ stand by rules had changed since his last stagey appearance there. For one, inmates were no longer allowed to smoke in their cells. However, he was in isolation; thus, a special, carefully wrapped amends was made for him, the guidelines twisted, broken, and their tormented remains tossed aside over one shoulder like a pinch of salt, in hopes of a wish come true. The condition—that unspoken wish—was that he’d keep his mouth shut and not cause a ruckus. His mere presence had the natives restless and talking, and not in tongues.
    As he listened to Georgia Satellite’s, ‘Keep Your Hands to Yourself’ playing on the radio, he and Rita slumped down on his rock hard bed, the damn thing cold and angry against his ass cheek and hipbone. The thin sheet and blanket did little to provide warmth and comfort; their existence was nonessential, seemingly there purely for aesthetics.
    “You goddamn son of a bitch!”
    Aaron slowly looked up and peered at the man on the other side of the iron bars. He tapped his foot a few times; the black boot settled once more, but the damn dust didn’t. Ignoring the man, he retreated into his own thoughts as if