Spanish Territory of Nuevo Mexico
Kincaid sat with the slave in a dry crick bed. The lad tucked his head and shoulders beneath the bank and hid from the withering sun. He cheated the burning rays, but he couldn’t escape the heat or his maddening thirst. A stiff breeze blew across the land gathering heat and drove the hot breath of the desert against his skin. It drew moisture from him and tormented his thirst. A man could loose his mind for want of water. Any would do. Cool sips from the spring behind the cabin back home or even slurps from a mud hole on the prairie.
Kincaid slowly looked over at Joe. They say slaves’ black skin and kinky hair made them suited for working in the heat and sun. That could be. Maybe Joe was having an easier time of it. But people say a heap of things about niggers that ain’t necessarily true.
"This piece you wrote on New Mexico. You can't use that word. We're a respectable academic site. How can you think of writing something like this?"
"It's historically accurate. That's how people talked. Do you want me to whitewash -- ah, cosmetically dress -- the way . . . Fuck political correctness. It's bloody crazy!"
"I'm sorry, but we can't compromise on this, Johnson. You use the word "kinky" and we'll have every hairy-palmed pervert on the Internet visiting our site."
Opening: Wes Redfield.....Continuation: Anonymous