Victim of Racism

"Japanese cow".
"Look at those worm-like eyes!".
"Bitch".
"Fuh-reak".
''Kind'of a ninja slut".
"Ugly brat''.
All these in a row, non-stop, straight away, spat on your face. No, their mouths don't hurt to say them. Why would they hurt after all, they were addressed to me, not them. All they have to do is twitch their mouths, add a satanic veil on their faces, and say it and bingo! They pass in front of me and forget me; only they don't know they've just killed a soul. Well, they know it very well, but dad's rich and they ignore it.
To them, I'm just a blurry face, with only the yellow skin and thin Japanese eyes visible. What does it do? That's life and that's how it goes. My parents, on the other hand but obviously, picture me as a good, tidy and excellent little lady, thin, athletic and slender with dark eyes and natural straight black and fine hair.
The account I'll narrate to you is real as in the Earth rotates on itself and the Sun wakes up on the East.
It was a balmy June afternoon, the 16th, a little humid since there was rain the day before. The trees were swaying gently and their leaves were shuffling lightly. I was wearing a red bright skirt with yellow tulips and a baby blue puff sleeve bolero sent by Grandma Thi Huyn from Tokyo. I can remember it so clearly, the events scoot by so slowly in my head that I even wonder if it happened today, though eight months have tailed since The Day. In fact, I was paying a visit, with my parents, to my oldest brother Jimmy aged 23 who was studying law in Ryerson University . I was turning round the corner that intersected Carlton Street and Ontario Street, up to JAM cafe. The streets were strangely empty that day, maybe because most people went to see the accident on Sherbourne Street near Domino's Pizza. It was a tragic accident between a Motorola car, a taxi and a group of teenage students.
Suddenly, out of nowhere in that calm day, I felt cold and strong wind brushing against my skin.
I pinched myself to see if I was dreaming. No. So, I kept on walking until I felt real shivers that itched and burned my spine. I realized at once that I was alone, on an unknown street, towards an unknown café, in an unknown province. At that very moment, I knew what was happening. I took out my mobile phone and was ready to dial but found out that it had conked out.
Then, it happened. Four motorists swept past me, made several rounds on the road and surrounded me slowly, yet dangerously. They had black inky and shiny jackets, the ones you see with goons in films, dark glasses and a stupid black piece of cloth round their heads, certainly to make me aware of their superiority upon mine. All black: jeans, shoes, dragon tattoos, watches. As the normal Annie lee would have done, I made as if I didn't see anything, but the spurring adrenaline, youth and terror made me expose my terrorized face. Palms sweating to liters, that stubborn acrid juice piercing down my throat, that vibrating and spinning head, that too familiar consciousness of my state, that thumping, leaping and heart wanting to escape (I was pretty sure the motorists could hear it), well, that too exaggerated feeling I’ve ever had sunk such a deep feeling which travelled all my body and hogged my head that I wasn’t even aware when my legs drove myself in front, almost swapping my lungs for air with rankling and staining terror. Still, I was not fast. I thought of myself a second Naruto. That was just an illusion, the same, stupid one that repeated on itself. I was never fast enough in my life. The motorists stopped, one in front, one at the back, one on the right and you guessed it. One on the left. Then (it was quite funny in a way) I noticed that one of them had long, thin and enticing legs of a woman. So there was a woman! I thought that only men were kidnappers. When she removed her cap, I discovered more. Luring lips. Flat nose. Lost green eyes. White. In a fraction of a second, it clicked in my head, the way when I found three numbers straight away in Sudoko: Karl’s racist aunt! I turned my head to the right only to see the bulgy, orbit-like eyes of Mr. Piper-Dash. Onto my left, there was no need to guess who it was. Of course, the French lady who went to live in Panama for forty years and came to Canada straight after, but racist for a certain reason. And at the back, I thought it’d be the ‘emaciated’ Mr. Palm (that’s what he looked like), but it was Dixie, another dangerous woman and a racist too, no wonder.
I can’t tell why people hate me that much that racist people have to form a group and attack the person they hate because of skin color. Ridiculous. Really, why don’t red-stripes cats fight only with white cats? Why don’t mares fight with zebras instead of giving birth to zorses? Well, after all, they’re living thing and in general, that’s what matters! It’s better to make friend with a person of another color than to try to befriend a drawer at any cost. But…God has decided to let it be me, and it had to be me.
After that, thanks to the racists’ stupidity of attacking me on a main road and to three passers-by (not one, not two, but three!) who phoned the police, I came out of the mess. But not entirely. Just before the police came, Mr. Piper-Dash threw something like a piece of wood- I didn’t see well in panic-with pure odium, hatred and disgust at my head. Well, great! Fantastic, Mr. Piper-Dash! It went right through my head and I spent six months in coma.
Still, I never turned into a racist myself. Don’t ask me about the others. It’s obvious that they’re in jail. That was about me, Annie Lee, victim of racism.