Killmonger's One-Shot Collection

Six Weeks Into An Era

A sequel to Three Weeks Into an Era. Someone ages ago asked for a sequel. Blame them 👀💅🏾.

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The plantation hidden deep into private land was an instant success and as reporters broadcasted nationally on the mass disappearance of white men over the age of 21 with an unfamiliar air of fear and a new sense of panic, no connection could be made between the disappearances and the new booming businesses due to the preexisting condition that is outsourcing factory labor. Erik and his crew were fat cats rolling in dough. Dante had been promoted to head of the all-male plantation as Erik floated from camp to camp, the latest camp being for women. It was 10 miles away from the first camp and nicknamed Camp Karen by the all-female team of overseers that supervised the property.

“PICK UP YOUR MACHETE AND SWING YOUR GOD DAMN ARM, BRIDGETTE,” Kathy seethed turning bright pink under her frosty white bobbed hair. She’d been toiling in the high heat for three hours, the sun beating on her causing sweat to drip all down her chiffon blouse. She was soaked and pissed.

“You better listen to her, Bridgette,” Shavon chuckled misting herself with her battery operated spray fan. “I’ll keep y'all out here all day and night until all that sugarcane is harvested. You won’t eat or sleep.”

Bridgette was a twenty-four year old engaged yoga instructor and mother of one 2-yr-old according to her profile provided by Erik. Her favorite pastimes included yelling at people of color who she perceived to be immigrants and throwing around the N word at black service workers. She’d even gotten violent on numerous occasions. Now she was screaming to the top of her lungs in a sugarcane field, refusing to work despite the fact that she was holding up twelve other exhausted and angry white Karens who were all but frothing at the mouth . She picked up the machete and swung it wildly.

“I don’t care if you hit them lice lizards you rode in with, bitch, but if you swing it this way I’ll assume you’re swinging at me and you WILL be taken down,” Shavon eyed the sandy blonde and lanky woman ensuring she understood. As Bridgette began to cry and wail, the other women fussed amongst themselves, fed up and exhausted from the hold up of Bridgette not doing her part. “Oh do you not like her behavior??” They had a nerve. They were all at the plantation for similar offenses. Some for way worse.

Thirty minutes of tantrum rolled by and Shavon returned to the air conditioned tent for a cool drink of Gatorade while Alexis took over as the active overseer. Alexis wasted no words having watched the entire meltdown from afar in her chair. She pulled her whip and lashed Bridgette on the back to snap her into quick action.

“This is what your people did to my people, remember?! You bring it up all the time to black people when you’re getting your nonfat lattes you must remember but in case you don’t, let me remind you.” With another snap of the whip across Bridgette’s back, Bridgette started working in double-time. She needed to catch up on all the chopping she had not done. “PUT YOUR BACK INTO IT,” Alexis yelled. “YEAH I CAN SCREAM TOO.”

Alexis had originally been gentle, but truckloads of entitled and extremely racist white women had ruined that side of her. She stung Bridgette once more holding nothing back, the pain of her ancestors her driving force in that moment. “Do you know that it’s estimated that 40% of slaveowners were white women? Yeah? We were currency for you.. A way for you to escape your sorry ass lot as a lesser counterpart to your white man and gain some type of freedom since you couldn’t freely acquire land. You say it’s the past yet you still view us as your step stool. Well not here, bitch. Pick up the pace.”

Meanwhile, at the all-male camp, Overseer Dante kept his group of caucasians in line by threat of fire. He introduced what he called the gun line. If any of the men were to take so much as a step past the boundary of the plantation he’d be dropped on sight. “TRY IT MILK MUTANT. YOUR TOE WILL BE THE ONLY THING LEFT OF YOU,” he yelled to a younger pale face with trouble in his eyes. He had yet to be broken, but it was a matter of time.

Erik was out with the truck on the hunt, ready to abduct new cattle based on a list of addresses and coordinates. The world had all but come to a stop, discussing the disappearances to the point that it was the main topic on all news stations and had been for a while. Pictures of socially high ranking white men were displayed from MSNBC to FOX. The president had declared a state of emergency. It was disgusting for Erik to witness considering the ratio of missing white men compared to black men. There had never been so much as a televised conference or lasting discussion regarding the disappearance of non-white people. Erik felt even more justified in his actions. Erik’s team also felt just as justified.

“WHY CAN’T WE JUST GO HOME,” Bridgette collapsed into the soil, shaking and crying, her portion of the harvest not near complete. “I just wanna go to take care of my SON!” Snot dripped down her top lip mixed with dirt, tears, and sweat.

“You think I give a damn about your little snotty nosed brat? When MY people, my literal great-grandmother was ripped away from her own child? Couldn’t breastfeed her own child because she had to breastfeed a white woman’s child? Cook and clean in a white woman’s home to survive? You think I give a fuck about you? My great-grandmother was whipped by a white woman for being raped by the white husband. She went blinding one eye because of it. The same white women she cooked and cleaned for and raised her child. You think I’m supposed to give a damn about yours? Get the hell up,” her top lip disappeared over her teeth as she reared the whip in a real threat once more. Bridgette scrambled to her feet, still sobbing as Alexis walked away back to the tent to collect herself.

“You okay?” Shavon had listened to the whole thing, sipping cold Gatorade in the cool air.

“I’m irritated, I just need to watch some Family Feud to get my mind off of it,” she muttered dropping down to watch the small television.

“Girl don’t let it get to you, you let that whip get to them ranch roaches and release that stress.”

“I know, girl.. I know..” She propped her feet up with a cold beer in hand and Shavon returned to the field refreshed with a new idea in mind.

“Since SOME of you moon crickets don’t wanna work there’s gonna be some changes around here. Going forward, the last one to finish gets 10 lashes and a night sleeping in the hole. Hopefully that lights a fire under your meth addicted pink and red flat asses. We know who’s sleeping in the hole tonight!”

Bridgette’s angry shriek was at its loudest yet.

“That’s for you Lexi,” Shavon called to the tent with a proud grin. Alexis waved in grateful solidarity just as the familiar drop off truck rolled in.

“ERIK,” Alexis exclaimed jumping up and fixing her hair to jog to the truck. It was him and he was tired and brooding as usual. “Hey, we’ve been keeping them busy on our side. Are you gonna stay?”

“Girl, let him out the truck,” Shavon smirked from the side, prompting Alexis to stop blocking his door. She was overly excited as always and as always, Erik was uninterested.

“New shipment,” he spoke to Shavon giving her the details on eight new women who could be heard screaming as soon as Erik lifted the sound proof gate. “Your problem now,” he patted her shoulder with humor in his weary eyes. “Have fun.”