Xenophobia by Kristine Ong Muslim     At daybreak, unpadded yellow asylum walls itch in his eyes. Even with the straitjacket, he can slink more quickly now than before, glow blacker than his father who sits beside him during the day of his rebirth. He slams his forehead against the wall. Anticipating the footsteps of the white people scurrying from far down the sterile corridors, he savors the pain, licks his parched lips. Blood gushes out of his smashed forehead. The white people always come too late.     More about this author Discuss this poem in the Community Forum     Fantastic Horror Issue #10 Page Top