Afreath

Bryan drained his glass, what was it, his ninth, heck, he lost count when they switched from wine to Southern Comfort, however long ago that was. He stood up, wobbled out of the bar, applauded himself on still being able to stand, and immediately fell over.

Shit.

He zoned in and out of consciousness, here he was, Istanbul, holiday destination of the rich, and where was he? Lying on the floor outside some bar. His stomach pulled in, and he prepared himself for the worst as a stream of vomit expelled itself from his mouth. Urgh.

His hands waved over the pool of sick, and it was gone. Magic was a racial thing, well, only black people were allowed to buy it. You stocked up on mana, and then used it whenever, there were rules, but there were also speeding rules, and the public consensus was "so?"

He couldn’t be seen like this, that was the job of the white people. Mind you, there were no white people here, not in Istanbul. Not unless someone was travelling with slaves, which, with the crazy prices of air travel these days, was unlikely. Three asian women walked closer, Chinese, maybe Japanese. Probably private workers, interior designers, chefs, prostitutes. These three certainly looked the latter.

As they approached they looked at him with unidentifiable expressions, he tried winking but another stream of vomit shot our, covering his legs, and he zoned out of consciousness again.

Morning, and the sun was already up. Call to friggin prayer. He slowly stood up, holding his head. It was so light that his eyes were half closed. He couldn’t remember anything, although from the vomit crusts on his trousers. He pulled out his mobile phone. Hell, it was 11am.

He ran out onto the street, trying to get rid of a certain unpleasant taste from his mouth, and hailed down a taxi.

"Get me to the Hilton Hotel," he said. Taxi driver was Chinese, short, old.

"Yes Bryan," the taxi driver smiled, after having checked his ID card.

"That’ll be Mr Tralio to you, just get me to the goddamn Hilton."

The taxi swerved through the streets of Istanbul, past the market stalls, past the beggars, past the port, and arrived at the Hilton, Bryan stepped out, and leant in through the window. He put his hand in his pocket, to find his wallet.

"No need, Mr Tralio, I’ve already deducted it from your high interest account."

Presumptuous bastard, Bryan thought, as he became probably the first man to walk through the main entrance of the Hilton with more sick on his clothes than clothes themselves. He tried to keep an air of calm as he walked to the front desk, and asked for room key 121. The receptionist was black, a sign of class. That’s why he liked the Hilton, it hired the best.

When he got to his room he relaxed, threw his clothes off, flight home was tomorrow, and he needed the cleanest clothes possible for the airport. He cast a "darkness" spell to help him sleep, and lay down.

@@@@Notes@@@@

I tried to write a short piece of fiction depicting an alternate earth with black domination, and mass racism.

I may plan to write more in this vein, if I get positive feedback. I put magic in simply as a hook, but it can be removed easily if it doesn’t contribute.

Comments please.