WRITING
FLASH FICTION
CHEYENNE SUNSET
Towards evening he took the peyote, danced circles around the sacred fire and hailed the Great Spirit. “I am Flying Eagle, son of Running Bear and Wild Flower, faithful husband of Talking Deer, loving father of Yellow Moon, shaman to the Cheyenne, your chosen people. Maheo, take me unto your bosom!”
Maheo entered Flying Eagle and his consciousness shifted. Looking down from his new body he saw the whole of creation. A sudden updraft took him higher and he ballooned across the Great Plains towards the east. Unbound by the normal fetters of space and time, he travelled at the speed of thought until he came upon the ocean. A vivid sunset spread across the sky as if a glorious tapestry had been thrown over the world. Flying Eagle wafted along only inches above the waves. In his joy, he almost flew into a bizarre canoe manned by an outlandish tribe: a motley crew, as white as ghosts.
As the sun sank over the edge of the world, Flying Eagle knew that it was time to go home. With sorrow in his heart, he took the sky-lift heavenward and headed inland. At the camp, his perspective changed and he was back in his human body. Yellow Moon threw her arms around him. “Daddy, you’re back! What did you see, daddy? Tell me what you saw.” Flying Eagle told her about the great canoe and she was tremendously excited. “Were there people in it, daddy? Like us?”
“Not like us," he said. "These men had pale, white skins – the colour of death!”
Now Yellow Moon was afraid. “Daddy, will they come here?”
Flying Eagle picked up his daughter and held her tightly in his arms. “I don’t know, my little Yellow Moon,” he lied. “Only Maheo can say what the future holds.”
