Why the White Fox Died

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Something assigned for a friend and me to do for Social Studies/History. I did most of the editing and wrote the final draft to read when we gathered around the class "Campfire". I thought I'd share this with the peoples on Booksie.

Submitted: March 18, 2011

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Submitted: March 18, 2011

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Why the White Fox Died

Hunters always wonder why animals that they don't kill attack them. Bears, for instance. "Why did the bear kill your father, but simply maul you if you were both hunting?" People ask. "It's only a few scratches. Not very much. Go hunting again." They say. But these hunters or people who've lifted the gun to a bear's head, they know the story. We aren't these people. But we are Native American, and our names are "Little Bear" and "Rabbit". We hear the animals whisper. But most of all, we hear the spirit of the White Fox, telling us stories. One was of the Forest Fight. It goes like this:

Long Ago, in a forest in Alaska, when the Indians were evolving from Newts and created Fishing Poles and hooks for fish, I lived peacefully with my family and the other forest dwellers. I had a mate and two litters in my large den. All of my kits were snow white, as was my mate. I was snow white with smoky grey eyes. The Indians were kind...had respect for us...until one harvest moon passed in our time of peace. The Indians had plenty of their Poles and Hooks. We were afraid at first when the Indians took control over our forest. Then after two more harvest moons, I thought. I lay in my den and thought of what danger we would be in if we didn't stop the humans from taking more of our lands and our neighbor's lands. Then I gathered the male animals. "Send your Mates and litters to the next Forest over. Into the foothills. We will fight the humans." So the females and litters were in the next forest, one in the foothills none of the Humans could get to. The next time the humans came, we threw sticks at them. Anything we could grab with our jaws and teeth, or what the bears could throw with their big paws. The humans soon brought out their Poles. The hook's silver gleam shone like the pond just before sunset. Like my mate and kit's eyes. Then, the humans struck. They waved the poles in the air, then let go. I felt a flash of pain in my neck and it became hard to breath. I fought for as long as I could before collapsing. I saw three other animals fall. I saw six animals injured. Caught on the legs and paws, limping along. Then the humans fled as suddenly as they struck. Animals rushed to the fallen. I was a spirit...the same speaking to you. I told the other animals that when my family came back, they were to go to my Brother's Den. He was young, but responsible and a dominant male, strong enough to care for them and fend off attack. Then I followed the Humans, cursing them...

To this day, animals avenge the White Fox. The spirits of the Brother and Family linger with the Natives of Alaska, reminding them of the day the Massacre of the Forest happened. I am not na Alaskan Indian, but one of the South. I don't know why the Spirits told me this story...possibly to tell you.

This story isn't a true story. Merely a fiction story. Pass it on if you'd like, if you want to tell your friends a fun little story of why animals attack hunters. Remember to tell them that it's a fiction story and you don't own it. Thanks for reading. Hope you liked it!

-Taylor Newkirk


© Copyright 2019 Taylor Newkirk. All rights reserved.

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