INT. SHACK – DAYBREAK
Four mattresses are shoved to the side of the one room house, each sleeping two to three men, women and children apiece. A pot-belly stove stands with its door open and a fire that's barely breathing. A WOMAN slowly shuffles over to the stove and stokes it with a long piece of wood, causing sparks to fly everywhere. She does not seem to care, but does the duty monotonous. She walks over to a mattress and stand over it, looking at the moonlight that falls on a sleeping head.

MISS BETTY
Wake up, now. Wake up.

MISS BETTY walks away from the bed and goes to relieve herself outside. A hand crawls from beneath the covers of the mattress and scratches the head the arm is attached to.

MOSES
4:30 am is when I wake up, sometime she let me sleep till 4:45, but then I gotta run to the field fore boss get there. No one wants to be late, no one wants that on they head.

Moses pulls on his clothes in the room as all the other people rise from their mattresses. Women suckle children with tightly, drawn faces as men tuck their gunny sack socks into their shoes. The men all tramp out to use the facilities while some women feed their children and others feed themselves.

MOSES
We got 15 minutes to eat, get ready and then we best be picking.

The door opens as Moses walks out lifts his arms to stretch and looks out. For miles, all it seems is white.

MOSES
They said it snows in the North, big white snowflakes you can wrap your hand around. Melt em in your mouth and never be thirsty.

Dozens of slaves stumble out of one room shacks like Moses's and they all begin to walk towards the white.

MOSES
Guess we got a different type of snow here. It don't melt and it don't matter.
I LOVE WHITE GOTH KIDS, THEY INTENTIONALLY AND WILLINGLY
paint their faces to look differently than the mainstream, so they’re closer to me in some ways I think. I see them as ambassadors of the profane, twisting thru Americana & growing thru great literature and harsh industrial muses. With sharpened teeth and a rejection of provided riches, I am nearly sure they will grow old eventually; perhaps they will not turn to an affluent middle class, instead they might always remember their old straggly hair can at once become a different kind of halo. For those who still remember what it was like to never want to be the same. The ones who once walked about with that across their faces might still demand…it's part of the reason I like white Goth kids.
There was of course the time I ran into the black Goth kid, face painted white…it did set me to pondering, and of course others would insist that him doing so would be absolute and instant recognition that Goth kids are the ultimate in cool, that lightness and darkness do transcend race, that LOTR is not racist in any case.
But that kid stood the whole night looking like it was first time, even though piercings and tattoos indicated he'd always been totally strange. Nobody talked to him, not even me.