The carnage was complete. The corpses laid at odd angles, mothers covering children, men in the prime of life with sculls caved in, and everything they owned on God's green earth scattered to the four winds. Only the horses and livestock seemed to have escaped death. The tracks led off to the west and from the looks of it, at least thirty braves had taken their plunder and whatever hooch they could find only to head back to whatever hideout they had off the reservation.
To some extent, I couldn't really blame them for what they had done. How long had they watched their own families slaughtered or shoved aside by the white man's progress? How many of their own had they watched waste away from diseases that their medicine man couldn't cure? Diseases that came from the white man's gift of blankets. Now they were hunted like a rabid dogs on lands that had once been their home. They were bitter, cold blooded, and felt like their backs were against a wall.
Yeah, one could see how this little wagon train was a choice prize that had just wandered into their lap. These thirty-six people were merely ripe fruit to be plucked, and pluck they did.
But then it wasn't their father, mother, and sisters who lay dead in the blistering sun, their bodies bloated with gas and food for the carrion crows and buzzards. I checked my .45-70 and nudged the horse to follow their tracks.
The buzzards were going to have another meal to eat today besides my family, and may God in Heaven have mercy on my soul for what I'm about to do.
Doc
**Author's Note** This was last minute as I forgot until Tuesday morning. Looking forward to reading your's.
Wow, for such a short story, that sure is a powerful piece of writing. Gave me chills, it did.
ReplyDeleteThis is the shortest one I've ever written. I had planned to make it much longer but I waited too long. Sorry.
ReplyDeleteDoc
This had serious potential, it's too bad the muse took to long to show up.
ReplyDeleteDon't be sorry. You allow us, the readers, to find the fitting end for ourselves. I liked it. It's proof you can write short pieces.
ReplyDeleteThe softy in me sees this man full of grief coming full circle to compassion as he draws a bead on some Indian child playing in the sweet grass of the Great Plains. He saddles up instead and rides off into the sunset.
I figured there'd be a lot of bodies this week, but damn, what a bloodbath.
ReplyDeleteGreat scene, Doc.
Bloodthirsty crackers.
ReplyDeleteShort ain't necessarily bad. The details are there for the reader to draw their own conclusions.
ReplyDelete"The corpses laid at odd angles..." Had to be a good story with corpses in the 2nd paragraph. Great job!
Doc - cruelly atmospheric and beautifully written.
ReplyDeletePersonally I think it's good enough as it is, regardless of the fact that time was against you - but if you ever decide to go back and add more I'd be pleased to read it!
you set a great scene -- it will be interesting to see if you continue as this guy is both sympathetic (i understand) but bloodthirsty -- poor sob
ReplyDeleteDark, death, and mystery... great action packed and intriguing little flash. Sometimes shorter is better, sometimes it takes length to get your point across. Possibly thats why some people write novels while others of us stick to flash.
ReplyDeleteI apologize for my delay in getting over here, but hey at least I made it right?