Dying breed (Part 3) - (Five minutes freewrite)
First came the shrieks, the maddening unearthly shrieks coming from nowhere and everywhere, shrieks no birds of flesh and feather have ever let forth. Then the night lit up and the glowies they’ve been terrified for so long were revealed to be globes of domesticated fire, hanging in the sky, sweeping back and forth over their scattered people, desperately trying to escape the lights they were sure would kill them like so many frightened rabbits. But it was the other tribe that killed them, those coming out of their stone huts brandishing long sticks that made terrible noise and felled them to the ground one by one. They were much like them, the foreigners, only the tone of their skin was a bit lighter and the skins they were wearing were like nothing they’d ever seen. A tribe they had never heard before, more deadly than the fierce jungle people their ancestors had run away from many generations ago.
They tried to explain with hands raised in the universal supplication sign they’re just passing by, on their way south, but the foreign hunters laughed at them, pointing at the fallen men and women. They laughed at the sight of poor Uuna, the tribe’s old maid, so much beloved for her skill with the tattoo sticks. Her hands forever painted black by the dyes she made were now red with the blood gushing from her left side. The hunters watched her writhing in pain, until a fat one with a short beard hit her in the head with his stick and put an end to her groaning.
Sol crouched trembling behind a bush while his people were put to death. He caught sight of Api and a couple of others running back to the forest, but they were too far for him to join. The glowing lights would surely pick him up if he stood up. ‘May the Stone Mother watch of over you’, he murmured as it was customary when men left on a hunting trip in foreign territory. Only now his people were the hunted, not the hunters.
Sol sat there unmoving until the shrieks died suddenly down and the foreign tribe returned to their stone dwellings. It was too late now to follow Api into the forest, he’d be lost there in the darkness and he’d never been alone until then. All he could do was make his way back to their land, where he could find shelter. They’d find him there eventually, when they’d be back for the Stone Mother.
Twelve full moons have passed since that night and his ears have grown accustomed to the deathly silence of the village, where no child screams jumping in the water and no one ever calls his name. Some days he climbs up the tallest tree to look for signs of Api returning. He only hopes they’ll take another route, far from the land of the foreign hunters, for they are still there - he can see their glowies every night.
Other days, he sits by the river watching the fish swimming downstream in banks, the turtle families warming up in the sun or the birds flying in pairs, alighting on the ground to pick up worms to take back to their youngs. Once he tried to call out to a squirrel monkey and the startled animal turned to look at him with its big eyes and hurried away. Sol felt so stupid when he told the Stone Mother about the monkey and she looked down with pity upon him. He took to sleeping at the feet of the mother, even a cold stone was better than being by himself, sitting alone in front of a miserable little fire. One day, the Stone Mother gave him a new jaguar skin to wear instead of his ragged one, but Sol stamped on it in a rage. ‘I don’t need a new skin. I need my people to be back, I need Api, I need somebody. Anybody!’
As my story is finished, I feel there’s a need for an explanation. This is a piece of fiction, but its hero, Sol, is a real human being, living all alone in the Brazilian jungle. I came upon his story a few days ago, when there was a report he’s been sighted again. Little is known about this man, other than he’s been alone since at least 1996. His tribe probably killed by some logging company people. His territory is now protected by law and a charity watches over him, and sometimes leaves tools for him to find, but he is and will be alone until he dies. You can find part of his story here.
Story written for @mariannewest's freewrite challenge. Today's prompt was: old maid!
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Thanks for reading!
Images are my own.