A Quest West
Only Everything Left to Lose
I woke up startled from the sound of a gunshot ringing through the sky. My first reaction was to shield my face while frantically looking from side to side. After hearing only more deafening silence, I slowly looked around. Everyone was staring wide-eyed in the same direction. I turned over and tried to pinpoint the spot. It all came in pieces: squeals and whimpers of tired and confused bystanders, shreds of canvas, blood slowly trickling from somewhere yet unknown and a few tears mixing with but distinctly separated from the crimson.
“Is she alive?” whispers chorused from the starlight.
“Who?” cautious inquiries seemed to scare away life from our eyes. Crowds parted as other drew closer to inspect what had happened. A small body lay seemingly untouched near the wheel of a wagon. Petite ribbons waved in the bloodied blond hair. Her eyes twitched as they closed and she cried ignorant questions. If innocence knew anything it was that death was not something incidental, not something easily understood, and surely something intimidating. Her family held her hand as unknown sympathizers whispered hopes to her of eternity in heaven. Some gave a sorrowed smile but most cried for her.
It had been one death of many on the trail, but the first so close. An accidental gunfire claimed her life. We placed flowers by her grave which we marked with a stone. Ann was utterly traumatized by seeing death, being so close to it. Her diary entry was not cheerful that night, the pages were torn from the pressure of the charcoal and the words had been smeared across the paper from her tears.
“Dear Diary, if I can call anything dear anymore. I feel as though I have lost something important, perhaps the blissful ignorance of childhood. There was no pretend play today, everyone carried on with their life but I cant seem to. She was only seven, two years younger than I. We don’t even know her name yet I feel we have forgotten my best friend. Love Ann…if I can ever love again.” She ran away after finishing the reluctant reading. I didn’t have the effort to follow nor the heart to let her go.
“Perhaps she isn’t so uninformed as I thought she was, maybe a bit dramatic,” Peter mumbled almost inaudibly. I fear that now I may have to worry about the both of them. He too stalked away and I wonder if Mom and Dad have been paying any attention at all. They keep their parental smiles locked in a false pride for their children’s work until finally I too depart. I roll my eyes, tracing the sun’s path west. Here we come. There we went.
“Is she alive?” whispers chorused from the starlight.
“Who?” cautious inquiries seemed to scare away life from our eyes. Crowds parted as other drew closer to inspect what had happened. A small body lay seemingly untouched near the wheel of a wagon. Petite ribbons waved in the bloodied blond hair. Her eyes twitched as they closed and she cried ignorant questions. If innocence knew anything it was that death was not something incidental, not something easily understood, and surely something intimidating. Her family held her hand as unknown sympathizers whispered hopes to her of eternity in heaven. Some gave a sorrowed smile but most cried for her.
It had been one death of many on the trail, but the first so close. An accidental gunfire claimed her life. We placed flowers by her grave which we marked with a stone. Ann was utterly traumatized by seeing death, being so close to it. Her diary entry was not cheerful that night, the pages were torn from the pressure of the charcoal and the words had been smeared across the paper from her tears.
“Dear Diary, if I can call anything dear anymore. I feel as though I have lost something important, perhaps the blissful ignorance of childhood. There was no pretend play today, everyone carried on with their life but I cant seem to. She was only seven, two years younger than I. We don’t even know her name yet I feel we have forgotten my best friend. Love Ann…if I can ever love again.” She ran away after finishing the reluctant reading. I didn’t have the effort to follow nor the heart to let her go.
“Perhaps she isn’t so uninformed as I thought she was, maybe a bit dramatic,” Peter mumbled almost inaudibly. I fear that now I may have to worry about the both of them. He too stalked away and I wonder if Mom and Dad have been paying any attention at all. They keep their parental smiles locked in a false pride for their children’s work until finally I too depart. I roll my eyes, tracing the sun’s path west. Here we come. There we went.