Writer's Club
Arts & Literature
Have you ever wanted to discus writing within the modding world? Trying to find someone to help edit or review your writing? Or perhaps just looking for a place to receive criticism? Then this may be the group for you. As this group is currently in development, some systems and details will be fleshed out in the near future. The forums are now open and set up for use. If you want to post your writing, go to the forums and (depending on length) post the writing itself or a link to it from elsewhere. An example will be posted momentarily. If you want to discuss a particular subject or style, start a thread in the forums.
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| Nunna daul Isunyi (The Trail of Tears) | Locked | |
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| Aug 20 2009 Anchor | ||
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When the easterners came to our land to offer us their civilization, Adadoda Waya, "Father Wolf", the alpha of my pack, refused to hand over our Cherokee heritage. Most of the families resisted the constant threats enforced by the federal government, but when the greedy exiles signed the Treaty of New Echota, the white people needed not any more threats; we were "legally obliged" to leave our lands and our sacred totems behind and relocate to the so called "Indian Territory".
Before us, other tribes had already been relocated, among them the Choctaw, Chickasaw, Creek and Seminole, but not without resistance. The Seminole specially fought hard, but were ultimatelly removed from their lands in Florida. Many were the reasons given for our displacement, that we were not using our lands as we should was one of them; but the reality for that injustice was plain and simple, gold.
We were pulled from our homes and dragged into the stockades to remain there for days until the wagons arrived. The day they did, it was raining like never, and the chilling cold penetrated our withered bodies, making room to the "cough illnes". We left our home in six hundred and forty-five wagons in the whites' year of 1838, to never return. Some white soldiers accompanied us in our forced migration, along with some african-american slaves we were allowed to bring with us. One month after we left, we encountered a snow storm that decimated our numbers greatly, and from that moment onward, fellow cherokees died every night.
We might just have deserved all that though, mainly because most of our people were leaving many of our customs and adopting the white men's way of life. Some of us wanted their money, weapons, tools and women; so the spirits of the land and its animals cursed us for our transgretions to tradition. We owed a big debt to mother nature, so Adadoda Waya communed with our totems midtrip and they asked white blood of him; the Gigasvnoyiehinvdo family, my family, was to hunt for our people's sake.
Thus, I left the caravan with my brothers and cousins to return to our lands, to hunt down and make the white savages pay. We had to endure many perils along the road, bandits, federal soldiers and even hunters of the Pure, but Unitsi Svnoyiehinvdo, "Mother Moon", washed our path with tears of blood and suffering. We walked for long days and nights before arriving at our destination, but history will never know if we prevailed, because the story of our quest is your legacy my child, yours alone and not to be known by humans.
Avenge, little wolf, and hunt. For we are Uratha, for we are Forsaken!
Ok, this is one of many stories I've written in the last year or so. I usually write in spanish (my language), but from time to time I do it in english. Hope you liked it. |
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