(Notes: The title of the book is "Emnity". Emnity is deliberately mispelled from the word enmity. Its a racialist fictional futuristic book. I just completed the first chapter and wanted to share it with everyone. I want to know what you think so far. How's the writing style? Does it keep you interested? Can you understand what's happening? Does it make you want to read more? etc...)

The man stepped out of the darkness and walked half-ay across the steel floor. He stopped in the middle of the abysmal room and looked up, diagonally peering about him and scanning the room for several seconds from left to right. After a moment of straining his eyes he could make out the pale reflection emanating from hundreds of square and rectangle shapes. After a second longer he stopped scanning and walked slowly forward into the shadows before him. As he grew closer, the light from the squares became more brilliant.

He walked 20 feet through the black passage way and stopped dead. He turned right and looked closely at one of the various squares. He stuck out his arm straight in front of him and pointed it at one of the shapes. A beam exploded from his hand and struck the shape. The light that came out of his hand was so golden and powerful that it scared away shadows and for once the place where he was standing was illuminated and all darkness was chased out.

The figure dropped down on one knee and attentively stared at the square object he was pointing at before. He moved his head closer to the square and as he did so the light echoing around him drew more and more tighter together until it finally collapsed entirely on the square and nothing more. The man looked at the square shape and noticed that there were other smaller shapes of various forms. The man studied them closely: “WARNING: FRAGILE”, “THIS SIDE UP”, they read. One part of it was stamped with “NEW YORK” and an address and zip code included below it.

The man stood up straight and examined another square. This one had similar writing on it as the other one, except it said “LONDON, ENGLAND” with the address of a warehouse written below that. A disappointed gleam emptied the curious look from the guy’s face. He stopped looking at those squares and turned around and examined the room about him. Every where around him there were hundred and hundreds of wooden boxes all stacked up on top each other in several areas. They were arranged 6 in width and 8 in height. The boxes were resting on wooden pallets and wrapped in clear plastic to keep them from falling over. They all stretched high about the man and reached into the heavens of the room, where even more shadows lurked.

The man walked down the dark passage way with pallets of boxes standing on either side of him. He shined his beam up above him to the left and right studying curiously the boxes around him. Once again the beam of light from his hand echoed around the room and revealed everything it touched; including the man. The man was pale-white with scruffy hair on his face that was healing after a shave three nights thence. His chin was firm with a split in the center. His nose was long and hung over a speckled lip. His eyes were blue and piercing. He wore boots on his feet, with dark jeans on his legs. On his torso he wore a dark blue jacket that hung all the way down to his knuckled hands; and under that, a t-shirt. The top of his head was decorated with a black toboggan that could be pulled over and used as a mask if need be.

The man was standing right in the depths of the cargo chamber of an ocean barge, but he was no ordinary-looking crew member. Nor was he supposed to be there at all. He was hunting for something like a predator at midnight. The fellow kept walking down the passage way examining pallets with his tool of light. “Where is it?” he thought to himself. Now he stood in the center of the flock, and like a lion, he was aiming for only one particular calf. Around him, the smell of fresh wood flooded his nostrils and almost made him sick. It was like standing in the middle of a forest, or worst yet, a logging mill! And like seasoning being added to a pot of boiling food, the stench of brand new, freshly cut plastic also invaded his lungs. Oh well, it was better that the smell of the sea, the man thought; which made him even sicker. The man couldn’t even hear the elevation of his breathing due to outside disturbance. Often he could hear the waves of the ocean beating against the sides of the ship and they made an annoying humming noise all through the cargo hold.

The man shined his light up to the top of a pallet to his right and looked at it closely. He turned the corner and walked down the right alleyway, never taking his light away from the top of that same pallet. “I think this is it”, thought the man, “I think this is the one I saw it on”. He followed the narrow alley down to its end and stopped in his tracks, still looking up at the top boxes. He stood there looking up and his brows tightened together and created a crease between his eyes. His lower lip hung open, and drool almost fell out of his mouth if he hadn’t shut it in time. He was quite sure that he had found his prey.

The man stopped looking at the top boxes and looked around for something to climb on. He looked down and around for something to put his foot on, but the plastic wrap made it impossible to use any of the boxes as stepping stones. The only thing he could put his feet on was the pallet at the bottom, but that wasn’t high enough to reach the top. He noticed how narrow the alleyway was and decided to climb up the awkward way instead. He left the tool of light switched on and slid it into one of the belt loops on his jeans. He placed both of his palms flat on either pallet to each side of him in a cross form. He used his palms as support and jumped his feet up on the pallet walls. He put the flat side of his left boot on the pallet to his left and the other one on the pallet to his right. With that, he flung his palms up another notch on the two pallets and did the same with his boots. The plastic wraps on the pallets snagged and stretched under the groves of his boots and the weight of his force, and made rippling sounds. Alas he reached the top of the left pallet and with his hands and upper torso resting above, he used the flat surface to pull the rest of himself up. While he was pulling himself up he almost lost his tool of light as the strength of the boxes pushed it further out of his loop hole, but the large end of the tool saved this from happening.

The thief pulled the rest of his body up and over the top of the pallet. As soon as he got the last leg over he rolled over on his back and rested for a few minutes. The climb nearly wore him out. After those few minutes he used his elbows as supports and lifted his torso up. He sat there with one leg stretched out over the boxes and the other one cocked up. He looked around and saw the dozens of box-stacked pallets about him. He took the tool of light from his belt loop and laid it on the top of the boxes facing the wall next to the pallet, still shining bright. The air in the cargo chamber was much fresher from up there and the thief took a few more breathers before going to work.

The thief laid the tool of light in a different direction and used its light to examine the tops of the boxes. “Alright, how am I going to do this?” he asked himself, standing on all fours looking down. The box he was sitting on was the one he wanted to get into. He lowered his legs back over the edge of the boxes and used the pallet behind him to support his foot. He saw that the plastic wrap ended at the top of the boxes and with his hands he stretched and tore it back. He tore the wrap back and down until the entire top of the crate was revealed. He studied the crate for a moment and pondered how he would breach it. Then, using the back pallet to support his left foot, and hiking his right knee up onto the wall of the subject pallet, he put his right arm on top of the pallet and used his left hand to open the crate. He hadn’t brought along a crow bar, so he was going to have to use the painful method of breaking into the crate.

With his left palm, he used it as hammer and began slamming it up against the side of the crate to knock loose one of the boards that nailed it together. Over and over he slapped his palm against the board on the crate and clenched his teeth in pain. Each time he struck the board it made his palm redder, and the edges of the board splintered into his hand. A loud noise this was making indeed, but it was not loud enough to awaken suspicion from the deck. With a few more painful slaps of the hand the board popped up and revealed two nails that had kept it in place. The thief climbed back to the top of the pallet and with one leg dangling over the side, and the other leg resting under it, he pulled the board off with his hands. He did the same thing with the other board next to it: first hitting it with his palm, and then prying it off with his fingers.

Finally, after taking off two boards, the thief was able to look inside. He rummaged through everything inside desperately trying to find what he had been sent after. Bags and bags of objects were piled on top of each other. Dozens of valuable objects were sealed inside giant clear plastic bags. With both hands the thief struggled through the crate, moving things away, tossing things on top of each other, excitedly seeking out his prey. Sometimes he stopped and looked at things. He would pick up bags and curiously look its contents over, but nothing caught his eye. He saw Celtic shields, flagons, carvings, an ancient Germanic cauldron, and other European treasures. He saw small wooden toys, jewelry, engraved necklaces of metal, warriors’ helmets and other things.

“Where the hell is it?” the thief thought to himself. He stopped rummaging and with both hands still in the crate he looked around at other ones and sighed. “Why didn’t they label these things?” he thought, but he knew why they didn’t label them. They didn’t label them because they didn’t care. All of these treasures were on their way to New York to be unceremoniously destroyed. Yes, in this day and age, there were people who hated such beauty! “I’m sure it was on this load” said the thief, “But which box is it?” Two days earlier the thief had stood on the dock of an English harbor and watched the dock workers load up this vessel, and the night before that he had been in the warehouse watching them pack the crates. “But which one is it?” he asked again. He had kept a close eye on which pallet the object had been loaded on when he was on the dock, but now he couldn’t tell.

The thief sat on his perch and looked around at the other boxes and pallets. When he moved his leg he thought he kicked his light tool because strangely the light had changed directions. Now the light was staring right at him, striking the right side of his head, and dancing on the back walls of the chamber. “Shit!” the thief yelled under his breath, and with that, he quickly flung himself over the side of the pallet. In mid-jump he caught the side of the pallet with both hands—so that he wouldn’t have to climb up again—and dangled there against the side. With one of his hands he lunged for his light tool, which was still on top, and switched it off.

The light was still on, but it wasn’t coming from him. The light was coming from the forward end of the chamber and was shining as bright as a flood lamp. With both hands still clamped on the top of the pallet, the thief poked his head up from the side and looked out. His eyes twitched in blindness as the blaze reflected against his retina. He couldn’t see anything but bright light, but he reckoned what it was. And what he thought was right: someone from on deck had come below and opened the cargo door. The door sat there wide open and the light was shining in, but the thief could see no shadows interrupting it.

Disturbing images and thoughts invaded the thief’s mind. “Did someone hear me banging around and come to check it out?” he asked himself. He tried not to think of what they would do if they caught a “stow-away” below deck. Usually they cut off their hands and throw them overboard, but the thief couldn’t bear to think about it. None-the-less the thoughts went into the thief’s mind and a small sweat broke across his forehead. “They caught me, I’m dead!” thought the thief.

Then, a shadow finally broke the glow. The thief dumped his head back into its hiding place, still keeping his hands clapped on the pallet. He saw the shadow, and now he could hear boots making the steps clang as they tromped down into the hold. The clanging turned into claps as the boots turned off the steps and landed on the flat steel floor. Then he heard voices: “What’re you doing?” yelled someone from above. “Hold on motherfucker, I have to get something!” replied a grim voice from the cargo chamber. The deck door closed with a slam and stood cracked open with a little bit of light still shining through.

Down below had come a man so tall and massive nobody would want to meet in a dark alley; especially, not our dear thief. The crew man was wearing black boots, grey woolen trousers, and suspenders hung over a light blue, short sleeve button-up shirt. Brown speckles decorated his rough face, and mutton-chops stretched down the sides of his head. On top of his head he was wearing an old-fashioned black sailor’s cap; the types that are billowy with a small beak sticking out the front. He scanned the room from where he was standing near the door. His mouth cocked an eerie grin with his half-smoked cigar hanging on the edge. He looked delighted at all the boxes standing before him just begging to be opened. His eyes got bigger as dollar signs bathed in their lens and the smoke from his cigar rose up and turned them yellow.

The crewman took a puff on his cigar, stuck his thumbs under his suspenders, and walked several steps towards the stockpile of treasure-filled boxes. He glanced at one pallet in front of him to his right and walked over to give it a closer run down. He stopped half-way. He took a few more puffs from his cigar, took it out of his mouth, lifted up his foot, and drew it against the grooves of his boot--defiling the dirt with brown intestines. The crewman threw his cigar on the floor, patted his hands together, and walked a few more steps towards the pallet. He knelt down in front of the pallet and investigated a small break in one of the crates that he could see through the plastic wrap. He drooled at the thought of what lied beyond that broken board.

He took two fingers and pushed them into the plastic, poking a hole in it. As this was going on the thief dangled, still, in his hiding place, behind his pallet, which was only about 20 feet away. He could hear the footsteps and still see light shining from the doorway, but he could not tell what was happening. Quietly he pleaded “please don’t find me, please don’t find me, please don’t find me!” The crewman took his fingers and started ripping an even bigger gateway into the plastic. “Get your ass up here godamnit!” was suddenly heard from the doorway of the cargo chamber. It sounded like the captain disciplining his sailor, because no one was aloud down into the cargo hold during trips. The crewman stood up and frowned and tromped across the room to the door. He clanged back up the stairway and slammed the door shut. A sigh of relief came from the thief. “Back to work” he thought to himself.

The thief lifted himself up over his hiding place and continued tearing away plastic from the crate next to the one he had been working on. After that he did the same thing as before. He positioned himself and used his palm to jam loose one of the boards of the crate. Success again! He pried off two boards as before and rummaged through the second crate. “Come on, please be here!” the thief whispered to himself. With both hands he rummaged through the crate, tossing aside and turning over more treasures. He saw similar things in this crate as the other one, and something more. He saw a small Greek statue of the goddess Aphrodite in a plastic bag. He stared in astonishment at her beauty and desperately wished he could take her along too. He wished he could take everything with him that was in that cargo chamber, but he would never make it across the water with the weight, nor out of the city.

The thief fought his desire and pushed the Aphrodite aside. There was something much more important that he needed to get. He dug to the bottom of the crate, pushing things out of the way, and even taking some things out and putting him on top the pallet. Then he came to a small box that wasn’t in a plastic bag. It looked like one of those small jewelry boxes that young ladies used to use. It was brown and made out of wood and had a small lock on the outside. The thief looked at this small rectangular box in more earnest than he did any of the other things in that crate. Some excitement came over him as he felt this was what he was looking for. He took the box in one hand and smashed it on the corner of the pallet, splintering the lock device. With another hit he broke the lock off completely, and all that was left were two little holes where the screws had been.

He laid the box in his palm and with his other hand he went to open it. With one last prayer for victory the thief opened the box. Inside the box there was red carpet lining the walls and the inner surface, and in the middle of that there was a clear plastic bag. Inside the bag there was something strange. It was hard like rock, but it didn’t look like rock. It was yellow, white, and brown, and there was a little round hole in the center. “This is it!” exclaimed the thief!

The thief quickly closed the small box and sat it on the top of the crates. He hurriedly put the boards back on the broken crates, after placing everything back inside. He stretched the plastic wrap back over the crates in a useless bid to disguise the break-in. He put the small box and light tool in his jacket and jumped down from the pallet. He ran to the back of the cargo chamber and sat there. He stayed there that night and the rest of the next day too. He had brought along a backpack that had food and drink in it, and passed the time by feeding himself.

The next day was hot and he sat down there in that hold all by himself. He snacked on crackers, and he drank water, and sometimes he played with the small box and looked at the thing inside. “This is what I came to get?” he asked, “I wonder what its for?”

All that day the thief was spared from any more harassments from “mutton-chop” or any other crew members. That night he planned to make his big getaway. “We’ll be in New York harbor then.” Thought the thief. When nightfall came he made his move. He packed up all of his things into his back pack: his light tool, his food trash, his crumbs, and especially the little brown box. He took a rubbery suit out of his backpack and put it on over his body and zipped it up to his neck. It was a scuba-diver’s suit. He took out two flippers and put them on his feet. He put his boots in his backpack. Then he took out two gloves and put them on his hands. He fastened his backpack to his back and made his way to the deck door.

“Oh yeah, almost forgot!” said the thief as soon as he exited the shadows of the pallets. He laid his backpack on the floor. He lifted his hat off his head—to reveal baldness—and slipped it inside his pack. He put his pack back on and walked up the steps. It was nighttime now and only one or two people would be up on deck: the night watchman, and maybe a cigarette companion to “shoot the shit with”. The thief slowly cracked-open the door and peered outside. He could see no one. He listened carefully to hear for any voices and in the distance he could hear two voices, but the men were too far off to be a nuisance to his escape. He crouched down on all fours and jotted across the deck while looking both left, right, forward, and backward, for any crew members.

He made it to the edge of the ship and he saw no one, but he could still hear the voices of the two men, and louder this time. He found the ladder, and trying not to standup, he put both palms against the deck and lifted his legs up over the side of the edge. He found the ladder steps with his feet and slowly, but ever so quietly, climbed his torso over the side. He climbed down the side ladder in the pitch of night, but the ladder would only go mid-way. He would have to jump it. He prayed for luck, closed his eyes, and dropped down into the water. Now came the hard part. As soon as he hit the water he had to keep paddling to avoid being sucked under the ship and to his death. When he hit that water he paddled with all the fierceness and strength that he could muster from his body.

Meanwhile, up on deck, the watchman and his companion were startled by a noise. “What was that?” said the watchman. “Sounded like a splash.” his companion replied, in a nonchalant attitude. The night watchman grabbed a large flashlight and walked over to the side, with his lazy friend following behind. The watchman shined the flashlight against the watery surface and scanned for trespassers. “Probably just a fish” said his companion. The watchman seemed to agree, and without saying a word, turned off the light and headed back over to their stoop. Thankfully for the thief the two men were looking in the wrong area for the splash and, still thankfully, the ship passed and he was now safe from suction.

After the ship left the thief sat there bobbing in the water trying to get his point-of-direction straightened out. He looked off into the distance and could see the New York harbor calling like a beacon with its bright lights. He swam off immediately for the harbor, but he would have to land somewhere up the beach to avoid being seen by anyone. He landed safely on the beach, changed his clothes—which the scuba suit had kept dry--, and made arrangements to get out of the city. Within a few days he would be several hundred miles away from that retched city and in the sanctity of his brothers.

In another city, several hundred miles from New York, the thief stood in a room. The room was filled with laboratory equipment and technological marvels. There were beakers, chemicals, tubes, pipes, and all kinds of medical-related equipment. The thief stood there watching a man sitting at a table full of chemistry sets. The man he was watching was a young man of about 25 years of age, thick in the face, and burry red hair on his head that looked as if it just sprouted up from a recent shave. Although he was thick-bodied, this young man was no loafer; he was an intelligent and brilliant scientist.

The thief stood there and watched the red-headed scientist look over the object he had collected. He was holding it in his hand: that yellow-white-brown-rockish thing from the crate on the ship, with the hole in the center. The young scientist wanted to feel excited about having the thing, but he was more restrained than that. He had a curious look over his face, and he seemed to be scanning the rock to see if it was a forgery or not. The thief stood there, both wandering what the scientist was doing and waiting to be paid. “What is it?” asked the thief. “The future….comrade.” answered the young scientist in a soft voice and never taking his eyes from the rock. “What’s it for?” asked the thief. “Sorry comrade, top secret.” Replied the scientist, still examining the rock. Then the scientist turned his head to the thief, grinned, and said “But you’ll find out someday.”

Seemingly satisfied, the young scientist then took out a fork-like instrument and began scraping away at the rock. The thief crossed his arms and studied him curiously. I reckon what was going through the thief’s mind was “why did he want this thing, and not those other more valuable treasures on the ship?” The scientist kept scraping at the rock with the fork and building up flakey debris on its surface. Then he turned the rock upside down over a clear sample cup and emptied the flakes into the cup. He put a lid on the cup and laid the rock on the table. “Now, don’t I owe you some money?” said the scientist to the thief. The thief didn’t respond, but assumed that the man knew what the answer to that question was.

“Twenty AK-47s and 10,000 rounds is it?” asked the scientist. The thief just slightly nodded his head. The scientist opened a walk-in size vault door in the wall and started carrying out rifles. His assistant walked in from the other room and started helping him. They carried out the rest of the guns and a large rectangular box. The thief picked up the rifles and looked them over closely, and then he opened the box and checked the ammunition inside. “This’ll do” said the thief with a satisfied voice. Another young man entered the room. “Ron, take my truck and give this brother a lift home” said the scientist. Without answering, Ron did exactly what he was told. Before leaving, the thief turned to the scientist and said “See you in the future brothers” while wielding a rifle in his left hand and saluting the scientist with his right. The scientist and his assistant returned the single-armed salute, and with his left hand, the scientist nodded at the thief and took a sip off a cup of beer—as if he had just made a toast.

Ron and the thief took the rifles and walked outside. With a smile, the scientist turned to his assistant, held up the rock, and said “James, we got it!”

That's the end of the first chapter.

Can anyone give me some feedback?

I'll read it now, and send some feedback later in a PM. Always great fun to read nationalist fiction.