Say La V Productions

Home of the Brave  

 by Frederick Foote On a Sunday morning walking down a country road in the blackest state in a 86 percent-black county I came upon a brilliant white church on a hill. I peeked in the window at the row upon row of fresh White faces in their proper places. I studied the stained-glass windows with the White Jesus, White Adam and Eve and White apostles. I opened the door and stepped inside. And discovered the banner saying "White Pride." The preacher spied me and stopped in mid-stride. The congregation turned as one to gaze on me standing in the church door. I was paralyzed by the laser lock of their eyes. The ushers rushed to me and seized my arms. The minister thundered, "Who are you?" The crowd hissed, "Why are you here?" My assailants tighten their grips. I said, "Do you not recognize me? My father has sent me to you." Their roar was like a great fire that scorched my soul. "Apostate, Pretender, Son of Cain! The Dark Angel!" They scream...