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What follows is offered in response to Velvet Verbosity's 100 Word Challenge. The challenge, this week, is "Soundless".
He crept up on the campsite, silent, soundless, as he had been taught to do. His quiver was empty, but for the coup stick Red Cloud, the War Chief, had given him.
There were no marks on his coup stick. Not yet. He needed a mark to prove himself ready for war parties. Hunting parties. Man stuff.
The white men all slept around the dying fire. All he had to do was touch one of them, then take something to show what he had done, and get away without being hurt.
He crawled in low and slow.
A gun cocked.
Ndinombethe.
4 comments:
more, please, sir. :)
ah that was good. I could feel the nervous, the wanting to PROVE something. it's so hard to be in that space isn't it..the place where you feel grown, but are not , quite yet?
you gave a vivid description of it.
Wonderful start, I'd love to read more of this story.
Interesting. I have no clue about any historical accuracy of the coup stick, but I couldn't help but to be reminded of other male "rites of passage", especially for gang members.
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