A KKK member wakes up in a world where whites are the minority .

He checked his watch. He checked his phone. He turned on his computer then went to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. *Is this for real*, George wondered, wiping sweat from his brow. 
 
 That morning he had gone to buy a pack of Marlboro reds from the liquor store like he did most every morning. Upon entering the shop, he was immediately caught off guard by a change in ownership and clientele. Instead of Aaron Brewer standing behind the counter, there was some dark-skinned hooligan. And instead of the regular townsfolk browsing through the wares and goods, there were a bunch of colored folk. George did n't buy his cigarettes that morning. 
 
 The computer came on, and he hovered the mouse cursor over the date. Sure enough, today was today, the day it should have been, January the 19^th. He took a deep breath and sunk his head into his hands. *What in the world is going on? * He had to walk about town some more, get a bearing on what was going on today, but he was n't going to toss himself unarmed into the lion's den. He grabbed his Colt.45 and tucked it into his pants before heading out the door. 
 
 He wanted to call his klansmen, his long time friends, to see if they had experienced the same this morning, but he wanted to be sure he was n't losing his own mind first. Walking along the road he noticed car after car being driven by coloreds. Sure, there were some whites like himself, but this surge of darkness was unusual for these parts. *Is there a music festival in town*, George wondered. There were so many of them that George felt overwhelmed. Where had they all come from? 
 
 Coming'round into the city square, a wide street opened up lined with shops and stalls. George could find his cigarettes here among a host of other goods and services, and perhaps some shopkeep knew just what the hell was going on today. As he approached, George noticed all the street vendors were of a dark complexion and began to feel his breath quicken. He quickly made his way to the smoke shop on the corner. Here he could buy his Marlboro reds and find out what the deal was. 
 
 George entered the shop to the sound of a jingling bell, and a voice called out from an obscured backroom, `` I'll be with ya in a minute.'' 
 
 `` All right,'' replied George as he looked around at the pipes and dirty magazine covers that lined the shelves. He did n't like smoke shops himself. They felt seedy. The TV hanging from the far corner of the room caught his attention. It was Fox and Friends, but the hosts were different. *Who is that colored girl* George asked himself. `` Hey, what's going on in town today?'' he decided to ask the hidden voice. 
 
 `` How do you mean?'' came a reply. 
 
 `` I reckon there must be something going on today as there's been a change in scenery if you catch my drift.'' 
 
 There was a moment of silence before a friendly face emerged from inside the backroom asking, `` And how do you mean by that?'' 
 
 That face! He was a Negro too! George stumbled backward into a counter, smashing its glass top with a loud crash. He regained his balance and pushed himself outside onto the street where he collided with a passerby. Both of them tumbled to the pavement. George landed hard and took a moment to regather his senses. As the other arose he asked, `` Are you okay, senor?'' 
 
 *Senor? Senor?! Jesus Christ! * thought George as he looked over to see a young Mexican looking fellow staring at him with a concerned look on his face. George shot up, fear gripping his very soul. `` What the hell is going on?'' he screamed. Others on the street began to notice the commotion and wandered over. `` We do n't want no trouble,'' said one of the black stall owners as he made his way closer to George. 
 
 George felt cornered. They were everywhere, and they were starting to surround him. There were whites mixed in, but they did n't seem to notice what was going on around them, not like George did. The Mexican reached his arm out to touch George's shoulder and asked, `` Are you okay, amigo?'' 
 
 `` Do n't touch me!'' screamed George as he pulled out his handgun, pointing it erratically at everyone around him. 
 
 `` Whoa!'' yelled someone in the crowd, and a larger gap was made between them and George. Some ran out of fear, others to call the police, but George stood there, shaking, pointing his gun at one then another then another. 
 
 `` You're all colored!'' he screamed with a cracking voice. Emotion was welling up inside of him. The crowd was confused and shared their confusion with one another in hushed comments and nonplussed expressions. 
 
 `` What do you mean we're all colored?'' asked an anonymous voice in the crowd. 
 
 `` Where are all the white people at?'' said George. `` Where did they all go? What's going on? What's going on?'' 
 
 No one knew what to say. It had always been this way to them. It was George alone who remembered a time when things were different. The night before, George went to sleep in an all white town. He was a Kleagle in his Klan, and they kept the area safe for whites like himself. But here he had awoken to find himself a minority in his own city. 
 
 George dropped the gun and collapsed into a sobbing pile on the sidewalk. The owner of the smoke shop came and knelt beside him and placed his arm around the shaking, crying man. `` Do n't worry about the glass, son. It's okay.'' The crowd stood in silence as the klansman wept bitterly into the arms of the Negro shopkeep. 
 
 DISCLAIMER: The story is from the klansman's perspective, hence the usage of words like `` Negro'' and `` colored.'' Please do n't hate me. Wrote this straight through, no edits, no rereading.
