It's seemed like a nightmare. Periodically between surgeries, Steven's medication would wear off. He would see his body progressively changing into a tall light-skinned black man. After each surgery, his altered body looked more familiar, and more alien.
Finally, he wakes in a bed. A real bed, not a surgical table or gurney. As his eyes flicker open, he hears a voice, it's his father's voice.
"Son?" the voice of the Klan Grandmaster asks.
Steven blinks. His eyes struggle to focus. His long arms and legs ache with a throbbing dull pain.
"You've had major surgery, Steven. They had to break your arms and legs and then pin them and stretch them. Even added bone from your hips to make them longer."
Steven's throat is sore from the months of tubes down his throat. His mouth is dry. His lips form the words, "Why?"
"Well, son, there was a chance Barack Obama was going to get elected," he said softly. "You have to understand that we couldn't risk - "he started to explain and paused.
Steven's hand found the control for the bed in his hand, and had begun elevating himself. There was a mirror opposite the bed. Steven's brown eyes widened as he saw the man in the reflection and recognized him as the Democratic party's presidential candidate. He looked like Barack Hussein Obama. He clenched his teeth.
He turned to face his father. His eyes were filled with anger and disgust. His skull began to ache from all the facial surgeries. The drugs were wearing off. A tear ran down his cheek.