It all started with an island. One of dull skin found them there; those of colourful skin. They were enslaved by those of dull skin and forced to work for their dull masters. Until, one day those of dull skin saw the cruelty of such treatment. Those of colourful and dull skin banded together and abolished slavery. 

Then, for a time, there was balance. Those of dull and coloured skin enjoyed the same rights.

Still, some of coloured skin were dissatisfied. They demanded more. They wanted privileges. They wanted to be above those of dull skin. Authorities had no choice but to yield, for the coloured had multiplied to all corners of the earth. The little dull skinned people that were left were then oppressed and bullied. 

This is how our story starts. This is how His world came to be.

***

“Hey! Scum!”

The scruffy boy kept on running. He had no intention of being caught. His bare feet pounded the concrete and the cold wind ripped through his thin shirt. The boy’s only solace was the warmth that came from the loaf he had managed to pinch. 

He smiled to himself. Today he wouldn't have to eat slop from a pig's trough. 

-

Slam! The sound of the boy being thrown into the door was heard throughout the farm. The others of dull skin looked up but quickly turned away in fear. The boy was left trembling on the floor, his coloured master standing over him.

“Insolent boy!” He roared as he kicked the young boy.

The boy did not respond, instead choosing to lie still. His master, seeing this, simply made an irritated noise and stalked off. After all, there was no honour in beating a meek slave.

-

The boy sat staring at his hands. That warm loaf was right there. He could still feel it glowing in his hand. His hand balled into a fist. 

‘Why can't they even spare a loaf? Every coloured man and woman has a whole feast every day.’ 

This unfair world of his. He hated it.

-

“You are lucky, the Master has a sense of honour,” his friend said as they worked, “I heard some masters beat their slaves for sport.”

The boy’s only response was gritting his teeth. ‘I should not think myself lucky for not being beat as much as others. We should not be beaten at all.’

His friend, being the good friend he was, saw this. He smiled and put an arm around the boy. “It's ok! We’ll be fine!”

No sooner had he said this a bullet pierced his skull. A voice boomed two rows of wheat across.

“Scum,”

The word had come from a new mouth; a coloured man they had never seen before.

-

The dull ones stood in a line. In front of them stood the coloured man. In his hand was a gun, its barrel still smoking. The boy looked over to his friend lying face down; the hole through his head smelt like burnt meat. His hand clenched into a fist. ‘Dammit. Dammit. Why can they just kill us like animals?’ 

“DAMMIT.” The words exited his mouth before he had realised what he’d done.

The large coloured man strided over, his black boots making each step boom. He stood over the boy covering the sun. Chills snaked down his spine, the warmth of the world was gone, along with his friend. The coloured man looked him up and down, his stare pierced through him. The large man opened his mouth.

“What did you say, slave?”

The boy tenses. He knew he shouldn’t say anything but who cared anymore? 

“I said dammit,” he muttered.

“LOUDER, BOY!”

“DAMMIT!” 

The boy snarled and tackled the coloured man to the floor. He doesn’t know what’s haening anymore. All he felt was his fist connecting with the large man’s face. 

Yelling came from all directions. Other colours came to pry him off but the small boy had grown strong from all the years working. The other of dull skin simply stood in fear. The boy turned to face, them a disgusted look on his face.

“Cowards,” he spat.