Writer's Cramp, 1/12, prompt info below, word count: 362
|"Papa, tell us a story," said my son. "Tell us why we never left here."
Our entire immediate and extended family was sitting around the fire and enjoying the cool night. Everyone nodded in agreement. I was the family storyteller.
"We did not come from these lands," I said, motioning to my surroundings. "We lived along great rivers that provided well for the Quapaw people. We battled our enemies and moved further and further down river, settling in what is now Arkansas along the Mississippi River.
"It was there we first met the white man. We traded with him and lived along side him, both learning and teaching. But more white men came bringing disease and war to our people and our brothers.
"Our rivers were no longer our place to fish as they were military strongholds. Eventually our land was taken from us and we walked with our brothers on the Trail of Tears to our home of today.
"As our youth became men here, their children and their children became eager to fight," I said and then pounded a fist on my chest. "They were unhappy in our new home. They wanted to rebuild our numbers, band with our brothers and take our land back from the white man.
"Chief Standing Rock told the young men to wait for a sign," I said pointing to the heavens and then around me. "He said before spring we would know whether we would return home.
"Our Chief was very old and wise. He had heard the white man was no longer fighting with others, but had found an enemy among himself. Our Chief would wait before entering the wolves den.
"A fierce battle," I said, flexing my arm and raising my fist, "ensued that winter and the blood of nearly two thousand white men soaked into our shores and spilled into our waters. Our Chief declared that place of death was no longer our home. It was here that we would remain." I pointed at the ground beneath my feet.
"That, my son, is why our people embraced this place as our home. That is why we are still here," I concluded.