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The Native American

Short story By: Michael Atkinson
Classics



A short story inspired by the struggles of the native american indian in the modernised american culture.


Submitted:Jul 9, 2011    Reads: 67    Comments: 5    Likes: 3   


The road was long and winding and the sun shined down unmercifully upon it. It wound its way round and thorough the mountains and out into the mesa. To the side of the road, on the mesa, a man sat in his car smoking and reflecting on what he would do when he arrived at the vast metropolis that was the city of his destination. The man had been driving for two days and he felt frustrated and bored of all the travelling. He had saved some money from working on a ranch and had left his old life behind him. He was a tall halfnative americanwith brown piercing eyes that would have been very perceptive if he hadn't consumed so much whiskey.

He now took from his black leather jacket a silver flask, opened it, looked inside and seeing it was almost empty, he reached across to the passenger seat and removed a large bottle of liquor from a brown paper bag. He then carefully refilled his flask, put the liquor bottle back in the bag and drank indulgently from it. After several swigs of whiskey the halfnative americanstarted his old car up and turned back onto the highway.

The car was moving fast now down the long straight road and he would glance occasionally out across the muggy hot desert at a lonely gopher or bird. Eventually he arrived at a gas station and pulled his car in for a refill. The halfnative americanwas quite effected by the whiskey he had been drinking having just finished the flask. He reached into his pocket and drunkenly took out a packet of cigarettes.

The old woman inside the gas station sat reading her magazine and when she turned a page she would take a sip from a cool can of diet coke next to the till. She owned the gas station and made enough income from it to live comfortably.

Just after the gas station, next to the highway there was a track leading to her house, where her husband sat out on the porch reading the newspaper. He was enjoying the baking sun on his face. After he had finished reading the last page he stood up, stretched his old limbs and thought that there better be some beer at the gas station. He walked over to his old battered Chevy and started driving towards his wife and their gas station.

The old woman was suddenly distracted from her reading by the sound of a car pulling up. She looked out the window and saw a dark man who looked like an Indian sitting in an old blue convertible. She watched him reach in his jacket and take out a red and white packet of cigarettes, he then put his mouth to the packet and, using his lips, withdrew one. Then to her shock and dismay he lit it.

The old woman banged on the window but the dark man did not hear her.He opened his car door and staggered out onto the oily tarmac, as he did this the cigarette fell out of his mouth and onto the floor. As soon as the burning ember on the end of the cigarette touched the ground fire licked angrily across the floor to the gas pumps.Hestared down at the fire as this happened and the old woman saw a look of drunken shock fill his piercing brown eyes as he looked up at her.

The old man drove onto the main road just in time to see the gas station spectacularly explode into a raging inferno. As the old man approached, he thought he could see a tall man dancing around on fire, in what could have been anancient burning dance of death.





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