The Werenigro

By Aron Ramses

Spencer Packer is a man who sees himself as an all-around good guy. Raised in the Midwest and taught to judge people not based off of their race and color, but off of their actions. Or so he believes. After a brutal attack, his beliefs are tested and his life is changed forever.

Journey with Spencer as he now faces the world as The Werenigro. A creature whose abilities and strengths are pushed to their limits as he learns the truth about what he has become and is forced to see the world around him for what it truly is.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aron Ramses
• Release date: Apr 4, 2017
• ISBN: 9780998812601

Aron Ramses

Aron Ramses is a Conscious Mind living in an unconscious world. He is a seeker of the truth, knowledge and wisdom. At home in this reality as well as the ether of the spiritual plane. He is blessed with the ability of seeing the world for what it is, not how it is portrayed. Join him on his journey.

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THE WERENIGRO

By Aron Ramses

Copyright © 2017 by Aron Ramses at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

About the Author

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to the Conscious Community.

Your efforts do not go unnoticed.

(1)

Hello, my name is Spencer and this is my tale of how I became a nigger. Now, hold up a second! Don’t judge me just yet. Don’t stop reading. I already caught you with the catchy title, so at least hear me out. This is not what you think.

I said nigger, not wigger. I’m white, but I love rap music, black women, and my favorite superhero growing up was Luke Cage, Hero for Hire. But I am not a wannabe nigger. When I say that I became a nigger, I mean… I literally turned into a black man.

Okay, so some of you are wondering how come I didn’t just write I turned into a black man vs. a nigger? During this process and my story, I am proud to say that I evolved into a black man. Believe it or not, there is a difference between a black man and a nigger, or like some say with endearment in their hearts, a nigga. Hopefully, now that I have your attention, I can begin my tale.

So, who is Spencer? My full name is Spencer Packer and I live in Hoboken, New Jersey. Before your hearts begin to ooze with sympathy, no… I’m not from New Jersey. I’m actually from Missouri, which some of my fellow Missourians call Misery. But, I would not say that, as I call it home and it still holds a special place in my heart. I was born and raised in a small suburban city outside of St. Louis, Missouri, called Webster Woods, a picturesque area with the appeal and charm of a small town. The town center is quaint, with lots of shops, stores and restaurants. I always considered Webster Woods to be diverse, for a suburb in the West County area of St. Louis.

So, let’s talk about the issue of diversity and my upbringing. If you can afford to live in Webster Woods, most likely your parents have a good income and can safely consider themselves middle class. Some of the residents of Webster Woods are flat out wealthy and live in large beautiful turn-of-the century homes that adorn the tree-lined streets on which they reside. Even the smaller, more affordable houses in Webster Woods are more expensive than ones of similar construction as… let’s say, the homes in the North County area of St. Louis (side note: some of you have heard a lot about North County St. Louis, since it is where Ferguson, Missouri is located).

The school district in Webster Woods is considered one of the best in the area. Like most suburbs in affluent areas of St. Louis, the inner city kids are bussed into the district. So, from an early age I could always remember going to school with black kids and having them as friends.

Now, I don’t want to make it sound like Webster Woods is this ultra-liberal, artsy tree-hugging, welcoming you with open arms utopia that is the inspiration for a changing world. No, it also has its issues. Just ask the residents of the shrinking historically black area called Meacham Hills. A pretty nice-sized area of Webster Woods, it was where the majority of the slaves lived during that time period. After the Civil War, the slave quarters remained the black area of town. Historically there has been tension between the residents of Meacham Hills and Webster Woods. This included tension between the middle class black residents of Webster Woods and their less fortunate Meacham Hills counterparts.

The residents of Meacham Hills, who considered themselves more street and harder than their affluent counterparts would regularly torment them. These whiter blacks or oreos lived in big homes, both parents were educated and they drove nice cars. They typically cared more about education then sports.

Now, you would think the kids who were bussed in from the inner city would be the hell-raisers, but this was not the case. The kids from Meacham Hills had them beat. For the kids growing up in the inner city, there was no posturing in regards to growing up in circumstances that would make you harder; they had nothing to prove. The Meacham Hills kids did not want to be considered less hard because they grew up in Webster Woods. They would create their own gangs and do what they could to maintain their street credibility and keep the inner city kids in their places. If it was a fight at school, you knew that it was the Meacham Hills kids acting up. In high school, the Meacham Hills kids were the stand-out athletes who dominated football and basketball.

Outside of school, my first interaction with African-Americans came in the form of the Lewis family who lived on my block. My first true best friend was their son, Quincy. I was always a smaller kid and the target of bullies at school and Quincy was in a similar boat. His family moved into the neighborhood when I was in third grade. They moved to Webster Woods from a suburb near Chicago called Naperville. They were relocated to St. Louis because his mother received a promotion at work that made her a vice president or something like that.

When he first moved onto the block, my mother—an elementary school teacher in Webster Woods—went out of her way to make his family feel welcome. She baked a big basket of muffins, cookies and cupcakes and took it over to them. They were the first black family to move onto our block and my mother was so excited, because she thought the diversity would make our block a more educational experience for all of the children. Now, some of our neighbors were a little more apprehensive and standoffish, but the Lewis family was undeniable. They were very nice, cared for their home and they spoke very well. (Okay I’m trying to be funny here. White people always believe it is a compliment to tell black people they speak well).

Quincy’s initial experience at school was tough and I think it helped us form a bond. Riding on the school bus every morning the last stop before we made it to school was in Meacham Hills. The Meacham Hills kids would bully Quincy on a daily basis. They teased him because he talked proper and called him a black honky, Cocoa Puff and Oreo. He initially acted as if it didn’t bother him, but I could tell it hurt his feelings, even though we didn’t know what a honky was. When I saw how it hurt his feelings I snapped and attempted to defend my friend. In some ways I later regretted that decision, but he was my only real friend and we had to stick together and protect each other, right? Well, all I can remember is being hit really hard, and then waking up on the floor of the bus, covered in blood, from my nose, and urine, from wetting myself while unconscious. From that point on, until Quincy began to drive in high school, we always sat in the front of the bus next to the driver for protection. Nevertheless, that experience with the Meacham Hills bullies did not sour my opinion of black people.

Quincy’s dad, Mr. Lewis, explained to us the difference between black people and niggers. Black people valued hard work and education while niggers cared about being tough, cool, and becoming athletes and entertainers. Quincy and I just kept to ourselves and we were always careful around niggers.

The years passed, times changed and Quincy and I went our separate ways after high school. He went to the Air Force Academy and I went to the University of Missouri in Columbia. We kept in touch and saw each other over the holidays, if he was in the states, but other than that, life went on. Columbia was a cool college town. My college experience was pretty uneventful. I joined a lame fraternity my freshmen year that I outgrew by the end of my sophomore year. I had my first girlfriend to whom I lost my virginity. I was really crazy about her, until I caught her in bed getting pummeled by the second-string running back. I know what you are wondering. Was he black? Yes, he was black and powerfully built. When he jumped out of the bed to throw me out of her dorm room, I could see that by the size of his enormously long and thick penis, she was ruined to me for all time. I would have been wasting my energy trying to please her, with the insignificant specimen of manhood that was in my pants. Not even a one-hour session of my exceptional cunnilingus skills could have won her back over.

The summer before my senior year of studying at the Business College, I accepted an internship at an insurance company based out of New York City. After I graduated from Mizzou, I accepted an entry-level position to become an insurance claims adjuster in the homeowner’s division.

Needless to say, I was excited to get out of Missouri and move to New York. Then reality set in and I realized that due to the exuberant cost of living in New York, I would not actually be living in Manhattan where my job was based. I ended up with a roommate, who was also an intern and entry-level claims adjuster like me, named Anthony Tony Montognese. Tony was born and raised on Staten Island to a large Italian family. We ended up renting a small two-bedroom apartment his uncle, also named Tony, let us stay in for a very reasonable amount. He had two older brothers, one older sister and younger sister. His family was very close and they always ate dinner together on Sunday after mass. They welcomed me with open arms and I was regularly at dinner at his parent’s house on Sunday. If for some reason I did not eat there, his mother always made sure I had a plate of food from Sunday’s leftovers.

Tony’s family was very nice, but I quickly found out that I wasn’t in Webster Woods anymore. His family detested black people and they were not shy to call black people niggers. To them, regardless of education or career, all black people were niggers. If we watched football after dinner on Sundays, they would make comments on how fast niggers ran and how high niggers jumped. His family were diehard New York Jet’s fans until they drafted a black quarterback as their starter. They denounced the team and stated that since they wanted a dumb monkey to lead the team they didn’t have a chance to win. It really didn’t help that the black quarterback sucked.

These conversations made me very uncomfortable. I thought about the Lewis family and my best friend Quincy, and I didn’t know how to respond. At times, Tony would try and goad me into making disparaging remarks about black people. One night back in our apartment things came to a head.

So, I’ve noticed that when my family is talking about the niggas you always seem to clam up. You some kind of nigga lovuh or something? Tony asked with his thick Staten Island accent.

I just wasn’t raised that way, dude I replied, I grew up around a very nice black family and my best friend growing up was this kid named Quincy. I used to stay the night at their house and everything.

So, you are a nigga lovuh, just admit it. Did you grow up drinking grape soda for breakfast? Bwah-hah-ha he laughed. Man, this is fucking fascinating! I have so many questions about niggers, but I couldn’t stand to be around them to ask. You’re like the next best thing!

I felt myself getting hot around the collar, but I didn’t want to explode for fear that Tony would kick my ass. Not only was I afraid I would get my ass kicked, but I knew if I put up a fight, his brothers would come over and I would get beat down all over again. My fear was I would get knocked out and wake up in a puddle of my own piss. So, if you haven’t figured it out by now I’m a bit of a coward.

Alright, first question, why do black people say the word ax instead of ask. They always be like, I gotta go ax my momma fo some money, or go ax fo some weed to smoke, Tony was having the time of his life as he asked these ridiculous questions of me.

I got another one… Why do black people always ask for extra napkins and straws when they eat at restaurants? At my cousin’s restaurant, sometimes we just watch the niggers when they come in and use their big lips to slurp up their spaghetti noodles. Those fucking big lips are like vacuum cleaner hoses! Man, even though I think nigger women are ugly, I wouldn’t mind one of them sucking on my Italian sausage. Whaddayou think about that? Since you spent so much time hanging out with niggers, I gotta ask you, you ever fuck a nigger bitch?

That was it. I’d heard enough and couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t respond to Tony’s comments and I also couldn’t bring myself to stand up to him. I went to my room and began to pack my belongings. I was stunned and I noticed that tears began to run down my face. I didn’t want him to see me like that. It had been so long since I was bullied. I thought I left that behind, and I couldn’t believe that in my twenties I still had to put up with this kind of shit.

Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing? You leaving or something? Man… I’m just busting your balls! Tony said with astonishment in his voice. You’re really fucking leaving?

I continued to ignore him while I packed. I just needed enough clothing to get myself through the next couple of days, and I would take a day off from work and come back when I knew he wouldn’t be around.

Hey motherfucker, you think you can just walk away from your obligations? You can’t just break your half of the lease! My uncle will fucking sue your ass, or better yet he’ll send some guys to break your fucking legs! Is that what you want? he asked in an aggressive manner.

As I walked towards the door to leave the apartment he blocked my exit with his thick frame. Listen motherfucker, you can leave here like a little bitch, but this is your only warning. If you go to work and tell anyone what happened here, I’ll fucking kill you and dump your body in the East fucking River. You got me? My uncle has friends, if you know what I mean? If you go back to work talking shit about me, those pussies in Missouri won’t know where to find you. Capeesh? he warned while his spit sprayed my face.

Capeesh, I said as I walked out the door with my tail between my legs. I hated being a coward.

(2)

Wounds healed, but the scars remained. Time moves on and work is work. I saved enough money to buy myself a condo in Hoboken, NJ. It was great having a place that I could call my own. My one bedroom basement condo wasn’t anything special, but it was clean and it was mine. I had a comfortable couch and a pretty amazing stereo. For me the perfect way to unwind after a hard day of work was listening to my favorite musician, Dizi D, the legendary blues guitar great, playing his famous guitar Black Majic. Dizi had a lot of soul and the wail of his guitar moved me. Nothing relaxed me more than putting on a set of head phones, turning the lights off and getting lost in his music. He was the protégé of Blues legend King Coco, and listening to them team up in a song or a live performance made me feel like I was no longer connected to this planet.