They're Indians. The shadows from the forest. Cherokee Indians. A man named General Jackson lingered on every syllable, spitting their names out in disgust like rattlesnake venom coursing through the vein, his eyes painting red streaks against the heads of the "civilized". Some whimpered for their existence, resembling the pride of a cowardly mountain lion; others accepted their fate with open arms stiff as twigs, and malicious smiling teeth grinding against their gums for control; while others fought every brittled bone in their body, a skeleton with a voice and a mind of it's own, they chose to dig their own graves, and those who were left had a year. One year, General Jackson said. Will I follow them? I'm not sure...
YOU ARE READING
Cherokee Raccoon
Historical FictionWe had to do a project in history about the Trail of Tears and I chose to write a story.
