Ageless savagry

Hm…..Where to begin with my life I guess my earliest memory was of my mother, she above all people was an inspiration to me. Her name of swift hooves. I remember the fragrance of her hair, the smile of her lips even her voice…like she was with me but yesterday. My life I guess didn’t really begin with my birth as much as my death….

~~~Date: April 15, 1826 ~~~

The air was cool, a soft breeze blew over the prairie grass causing the teepee flaps to come undone blowing in the wind…It hurts a bit to talk of it, so I will sum it up for you. My father or ad least the man claiming to be my father, was a Sioux chief. His name was Rolling Thunder, and yes he was ruthless and brought his own demise upon him and his people.

He knew of the terrible fate awaiting us, all of us and in hoping to prevent it he took beaver eater…I mean trappers, he found trespassing and well…The rest is up for discussing I was only a child of mere 6 years at the time and I can’t recall some of the horrors he inflicted upon them. But they must have been bad, since the anger of he invaders as well as neighboring tribes seemed to boil up out of the ground, becoming a wave that consumed us all.\

It was early and I remember being set in the teepee and told to wait by my mother, but she didn’t come back. The echoing of thunderous gun powder erupting from the long rifle shafts and the cries of the fallen, were all I needed to hear before bursting from the tepee. There were three singing pains…One in my shoulder, the other shattered my hip and another burned in to my calf…Then nothing.

When you die …It feel a bit like ice and fire all at once, then just cold and nothing, absolutely nothing.

~~Several days later~~

All I can do is cry from the day I awake in an alien teepee.”Mommie I want my mommie!!” I scream and scream the sound shacking the stuffed birds, hanging from the painted teepee surroundings.

The discrepant women with bird skulls in her matted hair, and elk teeth around her throat, covers my mouth, as is our customer chocking me till I stop crying. I can hear the men speaking outside, they say….they say…I am a ward…a Burdon on them and I have no one to take me….IT cant be….Releasing my mouth the old women regards me, I am totally naked laying them on the buffalo robe jerking and shivering as the shock ensues. Rubbing her hand down my flat copped red chest she shushes me speaking ,low in a raspy voice.

”Don’t cry grandchild, we will not leave you to the coyotes…We too are of the proud Lakota Sioux nation.”

I don’t listen, I don’t care…I don’t understand why I have no one….Why I am alone in the vast wilderness with these strangers.

Looking down at my body I acknowledge myself, naked still I see past the flatness of my rib cage over the smooth copper red of my flat stomach…I smell of decay, blood….And death. Like a freshly slaughtered buffalo calf, rotting in the heat of the midsummer day. My shoulder is covered in sticky tobacco and cotton clothe, my hip and midsection are as well/….

I’m not crying…even as more come in to look over me, the realization is even obvious to me. They are old and young, distorted in their features…true monstrous. My scrawny body goes numb, the tangles of my hair flattened against the rough fur under my head….I can feel myself changing as I have from then on.

For the child I was, was buried with my mother on that day and all that was left is this emotionless shell sprouting into a women.

~~~Well that’s just the beginning, let me know what you think. Thanks~~~