75 Arrows

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He shifted slightly in the saddle, letting go gently of the reigns, they both stood there and breathed in the view from the top of the ridge. In his peace, he realized it didn’t matter now.

Even if the government fell tonight, and democracy was swept away, he would still have one of the best trail horses ever made. He loved his Quarter Horse/Belgian mare. And he had his compound bow, but only 75 arrows until he learned how to make his own.

He dismounted and led the mare to the stream. Soon even people would be able to drink from the rivers again, having been cleansed. He was a little uneasy though, about carrying the bow wherever he went. What was it the pastor had said?

“Sometimes we hold onto our weapons, not willing to accept the new being made…..” Yep that was it……he was unwilling to accept the ruins and the new was having a difficult time breaking in. Maybe he just needed more time.

As the mare drank deeply, a noise to his right caught his attention. He swung around the bow, and his right hand instinctively reached back to the quiver……he wondered if the deer knew he was hunting…..

from the Apocalyptic Journal

     

Writing and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

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The Earth Would Bring Healing

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She squinted through the snowfall, her determination burning once again, in spite of the howling wind.

She had followed the wings of the hawk, and now….was that a cave? They had been led here for sure….”C’mon my love!” she yelled to him, who struggled with each step.

He had saved her so many times, now it was her turn. They knew this was not the time for dying.

Once they collapsed inside the cave, they found it warm and safe. They had survived the ruination, the last of all wars, led by the spirit hawk, surely it was a sign.

The Earth would bring healing. There would be a spring, and hope…..was about to be born.

From the Apocalyptic Journal.

     

Writing and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

The Survivors – Part II

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“You mean you built this place by yourself?” he asked, then realized it was a stupid question. Brie looked at him with steel in her narrowed eyes. But then the baby (a girl) at her breast adjusted herself and Brie softened immediately.

He was always amazed at how children changed women, adding a softness deep within. And the beauty of their bonding……well it was beyond words. He was convinced, it went beyond the deep exhaustion, and squarely into the realm of the supernatural.

Still covered in sweat, her blond hair somewhat matted, Brie cleared her throat and began, “Well I learned lodge building from the Mandan, I grew up in a town within their territory.” “Normally they don’t share the skills and ceremonies with outsiders….but they knew me, and then the wars started and the diseases..…..”

It had only been a couple of hours after the birth, but Brie needed to sleep. She handed the baby to him, which was surprising because she still had the large hunting knife next to her. She trusted him enough though, to hold the little one.

“What shall we name you little one?” he asked the baby not expecting a response. Brie had insisted he name the child, because he had removed the cord from around the child’s neck during childbirth. “You saved her life…..so you name her….”

He thought of Cheyanne but that name seemed too common among the survivors. “How about “Lakota”? It seemed to fit somehow. Brie stirred when she heard the name. With one eye open she said, “Lakota is the perfect name…..our…… Lakota…..” “Ours??” he asked out loud.

Narrator: And so begins the story, of how the Northern Peoples began again. A new hope was born. It was all part of the healing of the Earth, and her people.

     

Writing and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

The Survivors

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For some reason he could not open his eyes. It was the tug on his chest that woke him though. Someone or something was pulling on his left bicep.

“Hold still!” A woman’s voice pushed him back down again when he tried to sit up. He forced one eye open, but his head hurt so badly he passed out again. She must have pulled him away from the wolves, and she was stitching him up.

When he did awake he was inside the earth……wait no……he was in an earthen lodge. The wind outside told him they were in the middle of a tenacious storm. She offered him a bowl of something warm. All she said was, “Drink.” He did, and it was smooth warmth going down. He tasted honey among other things.

She looked at him with a knife in her hands. “I know you’re immune from the last disease unleashed, otherwise you wouldn’t be here….my name is Brie, and I think we should help each other…..but if you ever hurt me……you will be a dead man.” She meant it and he knew it. He tried to say he would never do such a thing…….

He noticed a youngster, maybe 3 years old playing behind her. She said, “His name is Jared, named after his father – long since passed away…..” So that was it, she was alone in the wilderness. And she was pregnant again. He did ask, and she was due in a couple of days. He shook his head that he understood.

“The drink will help you sleep……I’ll need your help in a few days, delivering.” He fell into a deep sleep……thinking that she was attractive, but he was worried about the knife……. at least he did know how a child is born……

from the Apocalyptic Journal

  

Writing and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

The Last Fish

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Note: This is about a Bird of Prey hunting and may disturb some people.

His wings burned as he turned, into the sky fire apocalypse

but it was the only way to make it, to the lake

he dove head down, down with wings enfolded

a bullet from the heavens

until crashing, breaking

the surface of the water, talons extended

he was all talons flailing

until he caught it

the last fish on planet Earth.

As he slowly flapped now

to his favorite rock,

he did pray for God

to do a miracle, to create

a new Earth once again,

as he devoured fish flesh

for the last time.

    

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

The Apocalyptic Journal

 

wild poniesI’ve started writing a new series of very short stories, and poetry with an apocalyptic or post – apocalyptic setting. The Last Fish was one of these. I have written in this vein before and really enjoy it.

In these poems – stories you will always see something positive in spite of the end of all things taking place, or having taken place. And you will see some influences from historical Native American – First Nations stories.

Let me know what you think. They will not always be centered on beauty and nature which are ideas I’m known for I guess. They are absolutely an experiment though. They are not always related, but some I think would make a fine novel!

Thanks for reading, and let me know!

     

Writing and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

The Wind Spirit

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Back in the day, when the Lakota still carried power in their feathers they would call on the Wind Spirit to protect them from the sharp eyes of their enemies.

The Wind Spirit would howl, blowing in a ferocious storm so that not even the hawks could see the lodges of the people, barely seeing the pine trees through the snow.

And the Wind Spirit continued to howl until all fear was gone having been breathed through, the nostrils of the Lakota ponies.

 

Writing and Image © Copyright 2019 ancient skies