In the Beginning was the End.
That is how Zilch thought that the history books would start when, hell,
If, they are ever written.
It began simply enough: a rival gang had moved into already claimed territory. Usually, a group would be sent to explain the scene to the
transgressors. Maybe some strong negotiating would ensue and the weak, starving newcomers would have to look elsewhere for some corner to fly their
colors.
But that is not what happened.
The rival gang ran at the home team with tears in their eyes. They dropped their weapons and hugged each defender.
Confusion. Weird smiles. And awkward pushing back against the interlopers ensued. Then a strange silence. Both groups felt embarrassed and nervous
and, one side felt relief.
This was not supposed to have happened!
One of the interlopers yelled back in the direction they had approached from. A larger group including women and children came out and moved
forward.
The group of men picked up their weapons and then moved behind the land owners. There was encouraging movements from the group to the the new
stragglers.
The home team refused food and more hugs from the newcomers. They were outnumbered by at least four to one.
A different interloper began a silent mime that looked like a battle dance done during the midsummer Sun celebration. Then it went in a different
direction that was never seen before by anyone.
St. Vitus Dance would have been easier to understand. Or a rabid animal attack. Doing the same movements several times with moans and cries of fear
from the women and children did not clarify the situation.
What are trying to tell us?? was the look given by the leader to the newcomers.
A young boy came running up to the leader just then adding to the conversation. After some arm pulling the boy got Zilch to understand:
Follow
me!!
They approached the edge of the hood and the guard began pointing wildly.
The scene unfolded from an indescernible series of shadows and rocks in the distance to something that the mind could not comprehend: the shadows were
moving slowly in their direction!
The shadows began to take shape. They were people from various hoods flying their colors. Zilch recognized the clan leader. But he had caught a
sickness in the winter and died. They had placed him in the ancestor’s tomb in the cave of the dead. The entire clan was there.Zilch had shed tears
at the wise leader’s passing.
While trying to make sense of what they were witnessing, Lucky, the guard on watch, yelled a warrior’s cry and ran forward with his spear.
Striking the leader in the chest, the group watched as the clan leader fall backwards. Lucky was shocked. Everyone gasped at the beloved clan leader
falling and how he was murdered before their eyes. Lucky turned back to the crowd and raised his spear in triumph.
At first, it seemed like the crowd was cheering him for his bravery and decisive victory. But Lucky finally figured out that the crowd was yelling at
him to turn around.
Lucky was facing the clan leader who was standing and coming at him. Several stabs to the belly would have stopped any attacker but the leader kept
moving forward. Lucky stepped backward and jabbed at his attacker letting out a yell but of frustration and disbelief at his attacker.
Lucky stumbled and fell to his back. The spear still pointed at his attacker. While trying to scramble back and then regain his feet, the clan leader
stumbled upon the uneven ground and fell upon Lucky with his mouth open as if to bite Lucky.
The clan leader impaled himself upon Lucky’s spear with his lunging weapon of choice, his mouth. Lucky held the spear as the leader pierced his head
on the end and, finally, stopped moving.
While the leader and spear collapsed on its own accord Lucky scrambled back some more and turned his back to the scene and got back to his feet. He
did not bother looking back as he ran back to the astonished group.
They were all watching the slow hoard move towards them when a couple men figured it out at the same time. Each mimed to the other group:
Stab them
in the head.
Action came swiftly as the warriors were snapped out of their disbelief. A wave, followed by another, began to attack the walking dead.
The dead died, again. Warriors died as well.
Zilch led both groups of survivors. The story was told, every Sunday, 8:00 PM, of how a group of people fought against the walking dead. The story
grew with each retelling.
Bravery, a little Lucky spear handling, and a grateful group of once rivals, defeated the undead. The hero became the clan leader, the story became
legend, and even the legend became myth.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow found the myth in a collection of stories at a friend’s house. That is when he realized that the mark made on history by
great men are footsteps in the sands of time.
-The End-
edit on 11-6-2023 by TEOTWAWKIAIFF because: Formatting