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Marcus Rane let the blaring noise of the city fill his senses. Everywhere he looked, smiles, directed at him, a stranger! For all they knew, he could be planning to mug them on account of their naïve friendliness. He was not new to his surroundings – Marcus had grown up in the ‘Big Apple’ and knew the street he was walking down, plus the surrounding eight blocks, inside out. It never failed to surprise him how many friendly people there were in the city, projecting more affection than his parents ever had. Rane was not affected, though, if anything his childhood in that rundown old apartment had made him into a man of iron. Now he worked when he needed to in art exhibitions, restaurants and even clothes stores.
Taxis raced by him, the drivers’ eyes expertly trained to look out for waving tourists and developments in the traffic simultaneously. Marcus found that the best thing about the city, his city, New York, was that everyone walked around with snow-white complexions and beaming smiles. No other colours caught his eye when it came to people – the media lied everyday when they reflected on America’s multi-cultural society. Marcus saw nothing but white – never in his twenty seven years of life had another colour tone caught his eye.
The reason for this oblivious behaviour was clear – racism. Only Marcus never knew it. His parents had drilled it into him, both strong supporters of old American treatment of blacks and other nationalities. Only, a strange thing had happened with Marcus.
His nature did not dictate any public malice, only kindness. In fact, instead of him turning to slander, he had subconsciously adopted an adamant mindset – his eyes would simply not recognise certain types of people. Not only that, but to prevent cynicism his eyes created an illusion: hundreds of smiling strangers everyday. Some preached that the world had come to the pinnacle of immoral doings, but all Marcus Rane saw was love.
His legs soon tired and he whistled for a yellow, trademark New York taxi. Climbing into it expertly, he opened his mouth to tell the driver of his destination, but froze. Where was he going? As he pondered, with his index finger pressing against his lips pensively, the driver clucked at him.
“Yo, where you wanna go?” the cab driver had a typical New York manner about him, except…
Marcus’ heart skipped a beat. “3rd Avenue!” he screamed, rather more loudly than he had intended, anything to get the driver to look away from him.
The reason for his radical behaviour was justified. Marcus had seen an alien. The taxi driver was no ordinary taxi driver – no, he bore the mark of a strange being.
Two aspects of his face had caught Marcus’ eye. One, there was no smile on his face, only a serious straight line where his teeth should be showing. The second, more severe, was his skin colour: dark as ebony, it defied everything he believed, everything he had been taught to think about the world.
“So err, buddy”, the driver piped up, nearly giving Marcus another heart attack, “where you from?”
He was outraged by the taxi driver’s question – as if Marcus was the one that had to explain from where he came. “New York” he replied, trying desperately to conceal his rage and shock from his tone of voice, as to avoid any unwanted conflict with the unknown being.
The driver chuckled and lost some of his frown, but his smile was incomplete. Marcus’ curiosity was aflame.
“What happened to you?”
“Pardon?” The taxi driver said, not taking his eyes off of the road.
“Well, forgive me if I’m too blunt, but why is your skin… You know, why is it… Why are you not white?” Marcus added a smile for good measure, as if the logical question would offend the driver in any way.
The driver did not budge, keeping his hands on the steering wheel and his sight fixed on the New York street. “Is this a joke, buddy?” Never before, ever, had Marcus heard such poison in another’s voice. “Well?” Marcus was left no time to ponder his next answer. Offence was a strange thing to him.
“Either you got a problem or, somewhere along the line of your life, your mind refused to grow in tune with your body!” Even though the driver was spitting anger, something in his tone told Marcus he was restraining himself, as if he knew he would regret it if he did not. Perhaps that explained his awfully thought-out remark.
Marcus was lost. He didn’t know what to say. The driver’s sudden anger had thrown Marcus into a myriad of confusion and frustration. Sinking back into the leather seat, Marcus mulled over his next move.
“I’m terribly sorry,” he stammered, “it’s just that I have never seen someone like you, with your straight mouth and skin like charcoal”.
The driver growled. “Just don’t speak, if you know what’s good for ya”.
Marcus opened his mouth at poised his hands in midair, ready to explain what speech alone could not. Then, he let it drop. As he let his hands fall with a thump beside his thighs, his peace was shattered.
Marcus Rane was thrown against the roof of the car, the seatbelt failing to contain him. Glass showered on him, grazing his face, tearing at his clothes like fire to a tree. His legs were manipulated into an awkward position and he felt something hard crash into his forehead. Blood choked him when he tried to make sense of his surroundings, to no avail.
Marcus was not in the taxi anymore, he was in the open, in a field. Golden stalks swayed as he looked frantically at his limbs one by one. They were disintegrating into ash.
Suddenly reality rushed back, Marcus gasped as the trademark concoction of noises beat against his ears again. Leather soothed his panicky torso.
“Are you alright? You seem to be… bleeding!” The driver showed genuine concern. As Marcus brought his hand to his face, an SUV dug its snout into the side of the taxi he was sitting in, at full pace. His nightmare was revived.
Darkness embraced him, and then there was nothing.

When Marcus next awoke, he was in a hospital ward. Checking himself, he gave a sigh of relief. No ash, no swaying stalks, no blood.
“Marcus!” Exclaimed a man clad in doctor’s attire, “good to have you back”.
Again, the man was not beaming, but his skin was white, so Marcus was reassured.
“What happened to me, doctor?”
The doctor then explained that he had been in a car crash involving a joy-rider. The SUV had smashed into the taxi and Marcus had received its full force. The taxi had been sent spinning into the sidewalk and blown up after thirty seconds. Marcus, who had fainted, owed his survival to his alien driver.
From then on his mindset vanished. Marcus Rane had survived an awful childhood by the will of God. He had not succumbed to prejudice.
Marcus looked to his right – something had caught his eye.
There, standing in the doorway, was his driver. Marcus felt relief wash over him like a great wave: he was smiling.