The Love of Haters

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She hated them. She hated them all.

This hatred made her pure in her Aryan Woman-hood.

She was apparently kind. Deceptively kind. And Good.

The apparently, outwardly, deceptively beautiful blue-eyed blonde, quite statuesque-was filled and replete with The Carefully Taught darkness and horror instilled into her by her horribly dark-souled parents.

The beautiful Gift from God, a child, needed nourishment, Love.

 She accepted what They gave to her.

She was a baby.

 She trusted them.

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The Mexicans were all criminals and thieves; the Kikes were crafty manipulators of the entire System; the Slopes were wily and crafty as well, definitely not to be trusted; and of course, who had to even say anything about those thieving, shiftless, stupid, welfare-getting Niggers?

They all were trying to destroy The White Race.

 Her parents had shown it to her all: all kinds of literature, pamphlets, on the screens over the years to prove this.

Why, of all people, would they lie to her about the way of the world if it weren’t true?

Everything that her parents had shown to her, everything they had told to her, all of it, all of it must have been true. Of course it was true. All of it.

She loved them.

Though she found it repugnant to be around so many Mud People, her parents and the leaders of The Movement had thought it wise to have one of their own in the Jew-Run international banking system: she was a smart girl, and she would be able to keep The Folk apprised of what those Plotters were up to.

 She became, rapidly, a Manager of Operations at her local branch.

After the Merger, certain things changed.

 Well, actually, many things changed.

 She was transferred to another branch. She couldn’t really complain-her new salary and compensation pleased her.

She was able to bring over some of the more reliable Mexicans.

 They were quite good in helping her in her weekly and monthly quotas.

It was good for business.

They spoke that gobbledy-gook.

That stupid Language.

There was, however, another change, a ghastly change: the new Sales Manager was a Black.

 She blanched-yes- the pale child could, and did, blanch.

She adorned her pretty face with a smile that meant nothing. In greeting, she genially took the brown hand.

 She was revolted.

 She never would have touched such a hand under any different circumstances.

This was going to be rough-going: she was going to have to work with him closely, day in and day out.

Why had Odin, the Ruler of the Heaven and Earth done this to her? Why had The Ruler of Asgard, the Sire of Thor, the Master of Valhalla subjected her to this-the continuous necessity of being in the presence of one of the Worst? The most Wrong and Filthy of all of the non-Whites, of all the sub-creatures?

Perhaps, maybe-really maybe-there was a purpose of the Asgardian that she could not perceive simply because she was a mere mortal. Was that possible?

     The brawny former paratrooper smiled and gently grasped the creamy white hand of the She-Devil- for that is what he thought of the pale creature before him.

He knew that she thought that the World was hers because of the clear complexion and the big blue eyes. The long blonde hair and the bright smile. The astoundingly curvy frame. This was the worst kind-he would have to be careful: they were always trying to “Take The Good Ones”.   

            He hated Them.

 He had spent so much time as a little one listening to his Grandfather recounting the tale of the brutal, vicious, unprovoked Beating: the murder of his Grandfather’s beloved, beautiful older brother.

            It had apparently been a dry and dusty and boring day in that small Alabama town all those years ago: neither the Sheriff nor his Deputies had much to do, except beat an “uppity nigga’s” head in.

Until he died.

How can a Child be “Uppity”?

High noon, on the dry, dusty road, with the Town watching, some, with pleasure.

Some, the Colored Ones, The Terrified Ones, watched in absolute terror.

            The Satisfied Ones did not quite know all of the reasons he had deserved it-but he must have. The Terrorized Ones knew: for nothing.

            The innocent boy drowned in a pool of his own blood, face down in the dry Alabama dust, now wet, never knowing why, why men he had known his entire short life would set upon him in this way.

The wondrous spirit that had been contained within this now crushed frame wondered why the Children of The Father had done this.

He did now understand that he had never had any insight into their nature, the nature of his Father’s cherished children, the nature of The Father’s cherished Children.

 The dazzlingly beautiful, glowingly caring, awesomely powerful creature looked upon them, regarded them, unseen, truly mystified. The celestial creature who had inhabited this mortal form wondered in his quiet fashion why they had refused the gifts that he would have so readily shared with them.

Was it true that so many of them could not see?

How could so many of them not hear? 

The angel considered all of this as he regarded the crushed, broken, frail frame of the child that he had been, as he had existed here, on this plane, in this world from which he had been so quickly removed by the forces of Hate.

This angel had chosen to come to this world to help them. For them there had been a choice to be made, a momentous choice.

They had chosen to do this.

The Doomed Ones, the Ones for whom the angel felt so sorry, the Ones who would be forever separated from The Father-a separation that was unfathomable to him-had been bored, and because they could: this was why they had done what they thought they had done.

 They worshipped and adored Hate such as some others loved this other useless thing, this thing that many of them called gold.

 He looked on in pity as the Doomed Ones tied a rope around the neck of what had been his body.

He regarded the final act of incomprehensible cruelty and filth and defiance-the hoisting upon one of His most beautiful creations-a tree- the body of a Gift-Giver.

 Raphael, The Bright One, looked on in pity as the evildoers rejoiced in that which would send them irretrievably into the Lake of Fire.

The Bright One did bring Light into the eyes of the mother and baby brother that would help them in their pain, the pain that would rest with them for the rest of their short, time-encompassed lives: Raphael blessed them.

He had so desperately wanted to save them all, these fragile, beautiful creatures, but he finally realized that this was not his to do: it was neither his right nor his charge.

His Beloved, Beautiful Brother, The First-Born, the Most Beautiful had done something similar, had made the same mistake. Of Nay-Saying their Father.

He had watched Him, his Beautiful Most Powerful Brother, shine His Light against Their Father.

Why had he done this?

He had done This, had made This Terrible Mistake.

He Loved his Brother.

And he had seen Him flee. With so many of his Brothers.

His Brother wanted to take The Place of Their Father, and this was incomprehensible. But he loved Him.

He fled The Place of Light.

He went to The Place of Darkness.

His Father was not there.

He hated Them. Would never forgive Them.

These Things that His Father had made.

Why did He Love Them? More?

Why did He Love more?

His Brother would destroy these Creatures, these Things that their Father Loved.

These things that looked Him. And The First-Born.

He would destroy Them, and He would Love Him again.

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This World was not His to change. He could not change this world, nor would He attempt to subvert the Will of The Father, like his Brother had done.

But he could help them, and if not them, their progeny, to at least see, to simply see each other.

Unlike his Brother, he loved Them.    

Laughter and joking; cigars and whiskey; photographs and picnics around the swinging body which no one in the throng could have mistaken for anything but that of a child’s.

This particular festival would be fondly remembered for many, many years to come by the participants, for the rest of their mortal lives.

They would remember for Eternity.

 The participants would remember this day for eternity: they had had a choice.

Steeped in a sadness so profound that it would have shattered the minds of these creatures, The Bright One, The Raphael, The Beloved, The Ever-Faithful, returned  to his Lord, ascended to The Kingdom, returned home, taking with him the gifts, the joys, the peace that so many of His Children had so assiduously, inexplicably rejected over and over again.

Raphael left, leaving the dead to bury their dead.

As the story went, his great-grandmother had resisted the overwhelming maternal urge to save her 13-year old son: she covered, as quickly as she could, the eyes of the one she might save, her 7-year old, and she fled.

            But the little boy who would live a long and prosperous life-his grandfather-had seen plenty.

In fact, he had seen it all; and he had made a point, during the rest of his life, of making it clear to all of his progeny what They were, all of Them: Evil.

 Evil Incarnate.

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He did and did not like being with her over the coming months, as well as she did and did not.

 But they both remained friendly, professional, and serious about their very difficult work and long hours. Oftentimes they would need to work together over lunch to prepare this, that, and the other. Sometimes she would help him in his meetings; from time to time he would drop by her place to bring her the reports she had forgotten on her desk.

   Sometimes this might be at 9:30 at night, and he still had his own work to do. She would look at him, thank him, and watch him drive away. He certainly wasn’t cutthroat; she had known him for months, and she had never seen a man work his fingers to the bone like he did. She had never known a man of such, well, kindness. This had been demonstrated over and over again at the bank-she had seen it. White (!), Black, Yellow, Red, and Anyone in between-he would always help, he would always try to help.

Could it be possible that her parents might have been wrong about these people?

Could it?

He was well capable of cruelty in the business domain: hadn’t They been cruel? Weren’t They the perpetrators of horrible crimes against his Ancestors that had been dragged to this land against their will; were They not the perpetrators of horrible crimes against his Ancestors that had lived in this land for thousands of years, the theft of their land? Were They not?

But, after some time, it was simply no longer possible to hate her.

 Frankly, it had never really been in his nature: he was not a truly hateful person, just an embittered one.

He had to admit to himself that he enjoyed her shining eyes, her bright smile, the quickness of her wit, her humor.

 After all, what her Ancestors had done, what her parents had taught her (he knew very well what her parents had taught to her, it was rather obvious) wasn’t really her fault, in fact, was not her fault at all.

The naturally compassionate, blessed man felt sorry for her, what her people had made of her, what they had done to her.

On the Saturday that they Saw each other, perceived each other, truly understood  each other, she had called both of her two brothers, first the one, then the other, to help her: the new DVD/sound  system had just arrived and she needed help, not only lifting it all, but also putting it all together.

But her brothers were both unavailable: they had to beg off due to the basketball game (of all things- they were both deep in The Movement, but they loved their basketball) that they were watching. It was more important to them than helping her.

This thing, this game, it was more important to them than helping their baby sister.

She never understood quite why, as she contemplated over the years, why she had thought of him, but she did.

She did call him, and she could hear the same game in the background, the same stupid basketball game that her two brothers were watching, but she told him of her plight. And he said he would be over in a few minutes. To help her.

Perhaps it had been simple Providence. 

How could her own kin leave her hanging like that, he wondered?  Well, there would, after all, be other games. So, he got into his Explorer and drove the few minutes to her modest apartment so he could help her.

It wasn’t all that difficult: the equipment was not really all that heavy, and all of the connections were color-coded.

He had come. He had come when the others wouldn’t. This was not lost upon her.

She watched as he lifted, carried, figured, concentrated, concentrated on doing this thing for her.

 For her.

She suddenly realized the lateness of the afternoon: it was still very warm, but she could do something nice for him as well. She could not lift and work all of this equipment, but she could-and very competently-Thank You Very Much-prepare a nice piece of salmon, macaroni and cheese, and green beans.

As he finished, as he wiped the sweat from his brow, she told him that he must stay, had to stay, for the supper she had prepared for them.

The offer was far too good for the young bachelor to refuse: the food smelled wonderful.

She delighted and laughed, she clapped her hands as he showed her how to operate all of the incredible gadgets that he had put together for her: he gasped in actual surprise at the deliciousness of the food, the wine that she had provided.

They laughed together, they joked together, they smiled together.

They Saw each other.

She had quite a strong maternal streak: this would be of great benefit in a relatively short period of time. She saw, with a clarity she had never possessed, a bit of red pepper near his eye, and she just had to gently remove it from the comely, high-cheek-boned African-American Choctaw’s face before it hurt him.

 She didn’t want to see him hurt.

Something was happening with her. She had seen him. She had regarded him; she had looked upon him and wondered.

 He wondered as well- how was it that he had never Seen her, could not push the soft hand of this delicate creature away?

She inadvertently touched the soft lips.

 The electricity that coursed through their bodies at her gentle touch truly amazed him, and her. She could not help but leave the soft hand against the strong jaw; he could not help but touch the delicate, upturned face, so now so close to his.

Something was happening, and they both knew it.

Neither the Aryan Nation, White Power pin-up Girl (literally-various and sundry publications), nor the Child of the various victims of such folk could believe what they saw.

 To the human eye, such huge and powerful things seem to move slowly across the landscape. An optical illusion, an illusion of perception: they are swift and undeniable when they are encountered.

The two of them, as so many do, simply miscalculated the distance of that train, its speed, its power.

That train, that juggernaut, it overtook them: their lips touched; they kissed.

 He touched the Loveliness that would one day give Life to their children.

The two, exhausted, finally, could barely keep their eyes opened. They fell asleep in each others arms.      

The Sun was setting.

The Earth turned, slowly. And the sunset occurred.

 The Sun set quietly upon their Hatred.

 The Sunset quietly disrupted, destroyed the burdens of Hatred, the burdens of hatred that had afflicted both of them for all of their lives.

There is Something Far Greater than hate: the hatred was simply removed.

As the Sun set, they were both washed, washed clean in that which neither of them had ever truly known, that which they both had finally accepted, that which had been freely given, freely given so long ago.

They had seen.

Having seen, they had accepted.

They accepted The Gift.

 Love.

Some little time later, just some short years, the two watched as their four little ones ran and played in the beautiful park., into the beautiful Sunshine. On a fabulously warm day, in a beautiful day in the glowing sunshine.

 Two had the complexion and glossy black hair of their African-Indian ancestors; two others had the mixed complexions of all of their ancestors-blonde, blue-eyed, fairly beige. Their parents watched as the four of them played and laughed and spun on the merry-go-round.

She and he relaxed on the bench, relaxed for just a moment, and took a moment for themselves: they were together warmly. Cuddled together, glad, warmly, wondrously glad in their secret places, each the other glad that they no longer hated their fellow human beings.

 They were glad that goodness and kindness had entered their lives.

They were glad that they now lived in love, in the fragrant, sunshiny glades and groves and fields of Happiness.

In the stead of the dark, nightmarish and terrifying forests of Hate.

They smiled and grasped each other’s hands.

They watched their little ones- Future Architects of a wonderful, shining Future-laugh and play and smile on the green grass in the glorious and beautiful sunshine.

And they were happy.

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