Excerpt from Frontier Journal, December 1890 [west closed, come back tomorrow]

I don’t know what I feel anymore. Neither does she, to be fair. We’re both floating along, feeling hurt and victimized, then claiming numbness like a birthright.

Claiming our numbness. Identifying it, as though it had been in the lost and found. Making a case for it. Declaiming it to all who care to listen. Pushing for it, like pressing a lawsuit. Making a claim against the guarantee of no emotion. You made me feel; take it back. This is my recompense.

Staking it out, this territory, building on this vast land, this nothingness, this stark plateau of the soul. Feeling is not here, it is over there, on that mountain, past the valley of sunlight, deep in the heart of the reservation, somewhere I am not welcome. Somewhere I cannot go. Soaked in sun. I stare at the snow and breathe.

I wish I could let it all go, just find a wide open space with blue sky and a warm bed at night, and escape with my love or myself to the great fire that awaits me.

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About betterpast

Thirty-seven and counting. View all posts by betterpast

2 responses to “Excerpt from Frontier Journal, December 1890 [west closed, come back tomorrow]

  • deacon dax dalton

    Somebody said, “I can’t follow this story. I tried, but the author slammed the door in my face and stopped talking to me, didn’t try to open it up again because as good as this store is, apparently I didn’t have enough Clash.”

  • deacon dax dalton

    this is a vignette? right? hell, idk. flash fiction? you know more about that stuff than i do. anyway, i think it’s about love between a white and a native, or sitting bull, or the ghost dance, or the massacre at wounded knee, or a native’s longing to return to their native land, or all of these things or none of them

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