W I N N E R O F T H E J O S H U A W E I N Z W E I G S H O R T S T O R Y C O N T E S T, G R A D E 1 0
LOST HOPE ____________________________________________________________ by Ethan Bonerath, Grade 10 On a warm summer day, Makwa lounged under a willow tree listening to the sound of the distant birds. The pungent aroma of smoked meat flooded his lungs from the nearby smoker. The air caressed and carried his long black hair. Makwa loved picking blueberries and sweetgrass with his siblings, which his father sold. He often joyously ran through the woods barefoot, feeling free as a wolf. He loved exploring and learning new things from his father’s travels. He loved his family dearly and would often play and venture with his siblings, cook with his mother and hunt with his father. Later that day, his father returned from trading and sat down with Makwa. He told him about the meaning and importance of his hair. “Your hair has great value, Makwa,” he expressed with intent. “It is a sacred piece of who you are. It is of great pride and meaning. It is a connection to your culture, family and creator. You must take great care of your hair.” Makwa held this lesson deep in his heart. That afternoon, Makwa swam in the gleaming blue lake, gliding through the water like an otter. As he got out to dry himself, he heard a caw. The call of a raven rang out through the forest. Makwa enjoyed the song of hope and freedom. Later, Makwa’s mother gave him a beautiful new pair of moccasins. He loved his new pair of shoes. When evening arrived, he smelled salted salmon and wandered inside his family’s quaint home for dinner. After dinner, all the children gathered around their father’s log chair to listen to another one of his famous stories. The children loved hearing stories. Storytelling allowed their father to teach them important lessons and pass down deep values as well as ideas. His stories went on for hours, and yet the little ones stayed fascinated throughout. Makwa went to bed imagining the stories. As hard as he tried to keep his eyes open, he drifted into a deep sleep. The next morning, Makwa was awoken by loud thumps of men’s feet at his family’s home. “Do you have any kids?” one of the men asked hastily. The men looked at Makwa with malicious intent. “You have the lucky privilege of having your son taken away to attend school,” another said to his parents condescendingly. The next thing Makwa knew, he was whisked away, pulled out of his mother’s arms. His parents stood dazed—almost lifeless—as though he had been snatched by the jaws of a falcon. Makwa was thrown onto a train for what seemed like days. He was starving, scared, sad and lonely. He worried about his family and where he was going. He thought about his father’s stories about school, he pondered what school would be like. The once-vast forest and nature that was home turned to fields of cattle and grain. He finally arrived at a bustling bus stop. People exited the train like cattle from a barn. He was guided to a concrete castle, where rows of children were lined up against the wall, funneling into the “school.” “Name?” shouted a woman in a black robe at the door. “Ma-k-wa,” he stated. “Oh. Jim, okay?” said the woman, whose eyes wore fear. He was rushed to another line and
–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––
22
