Name one good reason why you should live, and I will give you five to change your mind. The terror on your face as you realize who’s in control breaks a snarl free from my caged hatred. What makes you worthy of breath? Air is clean as you inhale, but it’s polluted when you exhale. My cousins and I will wipe the stain of your people from humanity’s rug, and the world will be a better place.

The skin color of your family and friends blinds me to rage. Bulls hate the sight of red, but I hate the sight of you. You were not created by God, nor are you and your people under his protection. All you are is the debris of wild boars and venomous snakes; tied together by an atomic catastrophe and brought to life by the Devil, to oppose us. Real people are white.

Did I say you could stop and look at me with a sorrowful gaze? I care not about your misery, and your palpable torment is not palpable enough. When my people came here, we found you milling about as locusts. You eat everything in your path and you’re getting in the way. “We were here first!” You may argue, but we were here second and superior. We own the earth, so stop crying over the loss of your neighbor and get back to work. Work until you drop, savage beast.

You smell wrong. You worship wrong. Hanging you from a tree and beating the life from you is the only way to make you understand how much you enrage us for opposing our practices. Your leaders beg us to co-exist with you in peace, but you’re on OUR land. Who wants peace when wiping you from earth is easier, and so much more satisfying? You’re nothing more than a savage beast, an uncivilized brute with backwards ways of life.

We’ll grow our crops in your blood. Maybe once your people have been smeared into the dirt, our lives will finally get better. Because it’s all your fault– for our poor economy. Our tyrants of leaders, and the hardships of poverty and sickness we face. If we cleanse the world of you, I’ve no doubt that our lives will improve. Our children won’t die, and we won’t starve. Taxation will drop. We’ll finally be happy. WE won’t hurt anymore, and who else matters?

In a few hundred years, they’ll say this is a black mark on our celebrated history. The stories you pass along to future generations of  your surviving scum will be filled with sorrow; of oppression and brutality. Our great, great, great, great grandchildren may feel sympathy for your plight. We will be seen as the pale skinned monsters, the locusts who arrived in swarms and ate your civilization with glee. We’ll ooze reparations for your damage. Our children will interbreed, and we will say we are sorry.

One day, the world will be a noble place where all humans are seen as people.  One day, humans will have rights and fight as hard to end suffering as we fight to end you.

But not today.