shaking, breathing in heavy nosefuls of air. Her words are still echoing in the She’s street. Or maybe in my head. ‘Like who?’ Ghalia steps back and looks up at me. still and spits it out. She’s the other white ‘All chav scum.’ She holds my gaze and then drags her right hand down across her nose and mouth. She sniffs and uses her sleeves to dry her face. Neither of us move. I feel the walls between us. At last told me the truth. She never loved me back. I was nothing she’s but a piece of shit to her. Another white trash loser. Well, fuck her. off Ghalia. just as bad. like all the other stupid fucking ‘Fuck You’re You’re Pakis coming here and stealing shit from us.’ As it comes out, it grates my tongue with the hatred in it. But I want to say it, even though I regret it. Even though it hurts me and hurts her. I want her to feel that pain. Ghalia move. She absorbs the words like a final nail. Her face goes stony doesn’t and pale and looks like a machine. first problem with that Dean, is that ‘The I’m British.’ Her tone has changed. no passion anymore. I even know if There’s don’t I’m listening to Ghalia or some recording. second thing is that my parents are from ‘The Bangladesh.’ She changes her stance. rigid and forceful. not speaking to me, but an It’s She’s audience far behind me. this is the issue. all so ignorant. You think all Muslins are ‘And You’re terrorists, but you even know the difference between Bangladesh, India don’t and Pakistan. People like you and your racist friends in the BFP make us want to join together and defend ourselves against your stupidity. Every piece of
She’s shaking, breathing in heavy nosefuls of air. Her words are still echoing in the street. Or maybe in my head. ‘Like who?’ Ghalia steps back and looks up at me. She’s still and spits it out. ‘All the other white chav scum.’ She holds my gaze and then drags her right hand down across her nose and mouth. She sniffs and uses her sleeves to dry her face. Neither of us move. I feel the walls between us. At last she’s told me the truth. She never loved me back. I was nothing but a piece of shit to her. Another white trash loser. Well, fuck her. ‘Fuck off Ghalia. You’re just as bad. You’re like all the other stupid fucking Pakis coming here and stealing shit from us.’ As it comes out, it grates my tongue with the hatred in it. But I want to say it, even though I regret it. Even though it hurts me and hurts her. I want her to feel that pain. Ghalia doesn’t move. She absorbs the words like a final nail. Her face goes stony and pale and looks like a machine. ‘The first problem with that Dean, is that I’m British.’ Her tone has changed. There’s no passion anymore. I don’t even know if I’m listening to Ghalia or some recording. ‘The second thing is that my parents are from Bangladesh.’ She changes her stance. It’s rigid and forceful. She’s not speaking to me, but an audience far behind me. ‘And this is the issue. You’re all so ignorant. You think all Muslins are terrorists, but you don’t even know the difference between Bangladesh, India and Pakistan. People like you and your racist friends in the BFP make us want to join together and defend ourselves against your stupidity. Every piece of