Prompt 33 - Hopi - "Kachina Dreams" - ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spikespetslayer - OC
Mar. 10th, 2007 02:04 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
dedra.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
tamingthemuseTitle: Kachina Dreams
Author:spikespetslayer
Rating: PG
Fandom: None--OC
Pairing: None
Summary: Rose hated her life on the reservation, so she sought a better one somewhere else.
Rose packed her bags and turned her back on her reservation, her people, and her life without a second look. She was going to Hollywood to live life on the Silver Screen and forget all the old ways that didn’t matter and wouldn’t change, no matter how long she was gone.
Her mother, in that strange, sybaritic way, knew that she was going. She slipped in to Rose’s bedroom that night after she had gone to sleep and tucked two Kachinas into her luggage. One was for wisdom, its face painted to resemble the Creator, the wisest of the wise; the other was for protection, its face that of a jackal.
Rose arrived in the evil city on a bright May morning. She knew that her family was preparing for the Dance to Make Rain back in Arizona, but she no longer could tolerate the dancing, the looks from the white faces, the ever-present clicking of the cameras around them. If she were going to be photographed and have her soul shredded piece by piece, she would get paid for it, large amounts of the green paper, for it was the way of the white man to pay for beauty to look at.
As she heaved her luggage through the bus station, she wondered at its heaviness. It was heavy before, for Rose was well-loved and she could not part with any of the clothes or trinkets that the males of the tribe had purchased, but the heaviest items—her costumes, her blankets, her beads and instruments, she had left behind along with her heritage. They were reminders of a past long gone and she could live without them.
She found a room in a seedy hotel that took nearly all of her savings and settled down for the night, her luggage waiting for her at the end of the bed. So tired was she that she never heard the sound of the master key in the lock; in fact, she had forgotten to use the chain lock, for the People did not fear as the white did about these things. At home, the People protected their own and doors needed no locks, for none of the people would steal from one of their own.
The thick, greasy man stood over her and watched her sleep soundly, still dressed in the tight blue jeans and the thin tee shirt that she had arrived in. He had seen how difficult it was for her to drag her luggage through the hotel lobby and wondered what a little squaw like her could possible have in the bag that weighed that much. It was his greed that made him decide to go to her room, more to see her than what was in her luggage, but take the precious items for himself. Such was his way—it was how he remained so prosperous.
He fingered the zipper on the luggage, wondering how soundly she slept. The tick-tick-tick of the zipper never disturbed her so he opened it wide, only to find clothes and two Kachina dolls that were worth little in his eyes.
The greed in his eyes turned back to the lust in his heart and he looked at the little Hopi with no family and no name. She had called herself Smith when she signed in and he knew what that meant. There were a thousand million Smiths in the world—she was just one more.
He leaped and landed across her body with a growl, waking her from the soundness of her sleep. Her exhausted body was too tired to fight as he scratched her shirt off, his fumbling fingers working feverishly on the fastenings of her brassiere and the zip of her jeans. She prayed to the gods for deliverance.
A shadow rose at the end of the bed from the forgotten suitcase. It was the god of Protection, the Jackal. He ripped the man from the cringing form on the bed and his mouth opened wide with wicked, gleaming teeth to swallow him whole, his feet kicking wildly as he was consumed.
She stared in fear at Jackal until a soft, kind hand touched her shoulder.
“Rose, the white man knows no boundaries nor any laws except those unto himself. A girl of the People has no business in their land, for you are setting yourself up to be taken advantage of and made use of. Rose, go home and make a life on the reservation—do not waste your time with those who do not see true beauty.”
She looked up into the face of the Creator and Jackal and packed her things, seeing the Kachinas for the first time. She smiled, both to herself and at her mother for her wisdom.
She put herself back on the bus to home, vowing to never leave again.
That was how Rose, the daughter of the People, ran away and came back in one day and how the Kachinas of her People protected her until they had her safe in their bosoms once again.
Hurrying to do this before work. Hope that you enjoy!
Author:
spikespetslayerRating: PG
Fandom: None--OC
Pairing: None
Summary: Rose hated her life on the reservation, so she sought a better one somewhere else.
Rose packed her bags and turned her back on her reservation, her people, and her life without a second look. She was going to Hollywood to live life on the Silver Screen and forget all the old ways that didn’t matter and wouldn’t change, no matter how long she was gone.
Her mother, in that strange, sybaritic way, knew that she was going. She slipped in to Rose’s bedroom that night after she had gone to sleep and tucked two Kachinas into her luggage. One was for wisdom, its face painted to resemble the Creator, the wisest of the wise; the other was for protection, its face that of a jackal.
Rose arrived in the evil city on a bright May morning. She knew that her family was preparing for the Dance to Make Rain back in Arizona, but she no longer could tolerate the dancing, the looks from the white faces, the ever-present clicking of the cameras around them. If she were going to be photographed and have her soul shredded piece by piece, she would get paid for it, large amounts of the green paper, for it was the way of the white man to pay for beauty to look at.
As she heaved her luggage through the bus station, she wondered at its heaviness. It was heavy before, for Rose was well-loved and she could not part with any of the clothes or trinkets that the males of the tribe had purchased, but the heaviest items—her costumes, her blankets, her beads and instruments, she had left behind along with her heritage. They were reminders of a past long gone and she could live without them.
She found a room in a seedy hotel that took nearly all of her savings and settled down for the night, her luggage waiting for her at the end of the bed. So tired was she that she never heard the sound of the master key in the lock; in fact, she had forgotten to use the chain lock, for the People did not fear as the white did about these things. At home, the People protected their own and doors needed no locks, for none of the people would steal from one of their own.
The thick, greasy man stood over her and watched her sleep soundly, still dressed in the tight blue jeans and the thin tee shirt that she had arrived in. He had seen how difficult it was for her to drag her luggage through the hotel lobby and wondered what a little squaw like her could possible have in the bag that weighed that much. It was his greed that made him decide to go to her room, more to see her than what was in her luggage, but take the precious items for himself. Such was his way—it was how he remained so prosperous.
He fingered the zipper on the luggage, wondering how soundly she slept. The tick-tick-tick of the zipper never disturbed her so he opened it wide, only to find clothes and two Kachina dolls that were worth little in his eyes.
The greed in his eyes turned back to the lust in his heart and he looked at the little Hopi with no family and no name. She had called herself Smith when she signed in and he knew what that meant. There were a thousand million Smiths in the world—she was just one more.
He leaped and landed across her body with a growl, waking her from the soundness of her sleep. Her exhausted body was too tired to fight as he scratched her shirt off, his fumbling fingers working feverishly on the fastenings of her brassiere and the zip of her jeans. She prayed to the gods for deliverance.
A shadow rose at the end of the bed from the forgotten suitcase. It was the god of Protection, the Jackal. He ripped the man from the cringing form on the bed and his mouth opened wide with wicked, gleaming teeth to swallow him whole, his feet kicking wildly as he was consumed.
She stared in fear at Jackal until a soft, kind hand touched her shoulder.
“Rose, the white man knows no boundaries nor any laws except those unto himself. A girl of the People has no business in their land, for you are setting yourself up to be taken advantage of and made use of. Rose, go home and make a life on the reservation—do not waste your time with those who do not see true beauty.”
She looked up into the face of the Creator and Jackal and packed her things, seeing the Kachinas for the first time. She smiled, both to herself and at her mother for her wisdom.
She put herself back on the bus to home, vowing to never leave again.
That was how Rose, the daughter of the People, ran away and came back in one day and how the Kachinas of her People protected her until they had her safe in their bosoms once again.
Hurrying to do this before work. Hope that you enjoy!
no subject
Date: 2007-03-11 05:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-12 02:15 pm (UTC)