Warrior

• Charlotte Grant, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2018

Sounds of thundering hooves pounded on the ground, sending startling vibrations through the village. Fiery lights charged at the lookout, leaving him with a face pale and still. Action needed to be taken and the lookout had done nothing, but blink his widened eyes and move his eyebrows to a height of abnormality. Someone needed to do something and fast. Hearing this commotion and then seeing the issue, the village chief roared from the bottom of his throat “kooooiiii”, waking up the whole village with urgency.
Families arose from their tents, peeping through gap with trembling legs.”Run”, howled the men from their tents. Men rushed from tent to tent, each time going in a concerned father and coming out a warrior ready to kill. Women and children prepared to run, but once they saw the tall men who had faces as dull as black that had trespassed into their sacred land, they couldn’t move. Silence was brought to the village.“kneel”, ordered the man with spit hurling from his mouth, decorating his beard with colours of white.”I said kneel”!, growled the man this time whipping his rope deep into the skin of the nearest women he could find. Gasps were sent past everyone in the village.
“Stop”! Wailed someone in the crowd. The man turned around slowly, spitting all of his extra saliva onto the icy floor. “What did you say”?, challenged the man. “How dare you come here and mistreat our people”, states the chief with a silent and hopefully unnoticeable gulp. The man stands there motionless. “Okay then”, he sighed, sneakily pulling a freshly polished gun from inside his jacket. The village was lost for words. A single shot that in reality was less than a second long, had turned into a repeated movie of a slow motion bullet torpedoing through the still air, right into the chest of the bold man, sending him spiralling to the ground.
Men leapt into the air, attacking with more passion than ever before. Women and children bolted for their lives. One man stayed behind, he gazed at his lifeless father. To him everything was silent. Step by step, he creeped up to the still body, shuddering to his knees. A single tear drop rolled down the side of his freckled face and onto the muscular chest of the once bold and courageous chief. Attempting to hide his enraged and mournful emotions, he ducks his head, suddenly feeling the soft bristles from the tips of the chief’s hat. He opens his eyes. Within seconds the historical hat had been handed to the new generation, the new leader, a new warrior.