Summary: Memories are our doorway to the past, and our keyhole for the future. She knows this. She knows that even as she looks at the past, she must think of the future.
Genre: General, I suppose, though I'd rather not put it there.
[A/N]: Another creavite writing piece. For this one, we were to choose a picture in the textbook and right a story about it. This would have worked a little better if had been some better pictures in teh book, but we made due with what we had. For my piece, I choose the black-and-white image of an old Indian woman with a faraway look in her eyes, and tried to figure out what she was thinking about. eventually the story ended up looking back to the past but living in the present. Or something like that. Watch out for the purple prose. Oh, and if you're like me and get confused sometimes, by "Indian" I mean Native American/American Indian, not someone from India.
The Indian copyright (C) 2011 to Kaali Van Amarante. All rights reserved. (And so on and so forth.)
She stands, and looks out over the land. Not her people's land, but the land was given to them after they were moved from the homes of their ancestors. She knows the stories; they were told to her by her mother. Her mother heard them from her grandmother. And her grandmother, from her mother before her.
There is no point in living in the past. She knows this. She knows that her children know the story, and hopes that they will tell the story to their children. Because a people without a history are nothing, are non-entities. History must be kept, preserved, and passed down, from one generation to the next.
The land is wide and sweeping. In her mind's eye, she could see the buffalo that would have roamed here generations ago. Was this one of the places her ancestors had come to hunt? Was this one of the old sacred hunting grounds?
An eagle swooped out of one of the few trees behind the house and took to the air, soaring through the sky. Jolted out of her reverie, she watched the magnificent bird soar up higher and out of sight. When it was gone, she turned away with a sigh. The day was warm and beautiful, but there was work yet to be done.
She went back into the silent house and went to the desk in her room. She took a seat at the new laptop her son had given her last year, and began typing. She was collecting the legends of her people – the story of how the world came to be, how their tribe had been created, and so on - and their history – the tales of how they had come to live her, how they had adjusted to life after they were moved, and so on – just in case. Just in case her grandchildren did not know the story, she would print a copy for each of them, and give it to them as gifts. She would preserve the legends and the history, and make sure they were passed on to the next generation.
Because even the best kept histories can be forgotten.
She finished writing the next legend and saved it on the computer, then tried to send it to the printer. The computer told her it had sent the documents to the printer, but the printer just blinked obnoxiously at her, teasing her that it would not do what she wanted it to do. She got out of her chair and walked over to the bratty machine, banging on it and cursing it out in her native language.
The sound of the front door opening and closing got her attention. "Grandma, are you home?"
"I am back here, Susan," The old woman called, banging on the printer. "Give me my papers, you stupid machine."
"Grandma, what are you doing?" Susan asked.
"This printer will not give me my papers like I told it too."
"Did you send the document to it?"
Susan sat down in the chair and typed another command into the computer. "Here's the problem. The thing was synced up wrong." She repeated the command to print, and the printer stopped blinking and started printing.
"You must have the magic touch, Susan."
"No, I just have experience, that's all."
[A/N]: Hey look, I forgot I had to explain whay I choose the picture I did. Look at this:
"For my piece, I choose the picture of the old Indian woman. I have an interest in Native American history, but the past is gone, and it's not coming back. So for my piece, I decided to look at a person who has known the past, and heard of it, but chooses to live in the here and now."
I don't quite know what to think of this one, so I'll leave it up to you all. If you've made it down this far, please leave a review!
Have a great day!