Little Red

It was a tormenting time. Small children were taken. Far away from their homes. Herded like cattle. The men said for education. But that wasn’t true. They were made to unlearn. All these children were abused. Their culture stripped from them. Their ancestral language denied. The men called them vermin. Ignorant men, so cruel. Claiming it was God’s Law.

Little Red was a boy. Son of a medicine man. Little Red was brave. Born under the wolf star. Blessed by the firebird. He had a secret cloak. Made of red feathers. No-one could see it. Only he saw it. It gave him great courage. He understood all he saw. He knew the forest ways. He could talk to wolves. They came to his call. One moonless night. This caused chaos. In the darkness he ran. Ran with the wolves. Deep into the forest. Far, far away. Away from all humans. The wolves were protective. He learned all their ways. He did the wolf dance. He sang to his star. For seven nights he waited. Wearing his red feather cloak. Wrapped tight around him. Feathers faded to grey. They became fur. He became a wolf.

He missed his home. He missed his grandma. At last, he went home. She knew him at once. She was happy. But she knew the danger. The danger was great. The men often taunted her. She always refused to speak. They stole her food. Food she had grown. Food from her own toil. They chopped down trees. She wasn’t afraid. She feared for the boy. So, she hid him away. He came out at night. In the day he slept. Hidden under her bed.

One day the men came. They lit a fire. They took grandma. They called her a witch. They set her on fire. The boy could do nothing. The wolf fears only fire. Little Red stayed hidden. Later he crept away. He howled alone. Alone in the woods. Later his tracks were found. Found near the lodge. Wolves can’t burn people. But they blamed him anyway. They made up some story. They always spoke lies. Wolves always get the blame.

Just like Geronimo. Just like Cochese. And Sitting Bull. Man-Afraid-of-His-Horses. And Running Bear. Little Red belongs amongst them. It’s the same old story. Over and over again. Always the same. Never think it can’t happen. It might happen to you. Listen with care, my child. Hear my words. It’s not easy. Living like Little Red.

(This story has sentences of 5 words or less – try one)

Published by

Ali Chakir

I am a writer and I am studying Creative Writing with the Open University, UK

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