The Last

The Last
             
        They had listened they had understood him. But their curiosity had busted high as they made the sun shine at night with our fire. They had been fascinated at the record keeping tools they possessed.
         
        He had lost all he had held dear to him and now he was a desolate, and lonely man.  He could not walk down the streets now without being scorned. Like now immature teenagers were throwing tomatoes and other squishable foods at him. He fled his changed people, his lost friendships, fled banished from the ones he loved. 
He fled running endlessly high up into he mountains.

         Hearing the famed archeologists he ran deeper and deeper into the forest. He quickly began to follow the ancient paths that wound around the mountains, crossing riverss climing, mountains and heading deep into the hills.

         He stopped at night sleeping under the glistening stars where his ancestors were said to be watching from. Each morning before sunrise he would continue on his journey. On the fifth day he stopped in font of a huge cave entrance where he made camp. He gathered the berries of life and healing water from the mountain stream then he sat at the caves entrance morning the loss of his great people.  The secrets were lost Aragonia knew that and wept from the knowledge of their destruction.
         
        Archeologists had come digging, climbing, and asking questions, they came with just the smallest of bait. They had come to learn, come to find new answers, and they had taught his people to read sew and to think for themselves. They had left in numbers, his people left for the world, the life that was new and dangerous. They left collecting clothes of fashion, jewelry custom made, and food that they had never seen or tasted before. They were glad to go quick in discarding his "evil ways" as they called them.

         On the third day of his rest he began his journey through the caves entrance. Inside his torch lighting the way he could see the gold trim on the edges of doorways that led from the main hallway. Each door way had a sign engraved in gold, the writings were ancient but he knew them all by heart.  “Fenrosea”  “Milacuda” “Atlatisca” At the end of the hall way he sat and slid down the curved floor. He fell through an entrance unseen from the top. He slid yet even further on this slid until it leveled out in a big chamber room with only one exit
He remembered fondly as he had greeted the little children, their laughing smiling faces beaming as he taught them as their chief their leader. The children were now gone, there parents dragging them away to Africa, France or the beloved United States. Those who stayed or waited for departure had been forbidden to see or speak of him. He had tried to stop this Horror. He had told his people that the men were evil, wrong, and hooligans. That they would come and destroy their huts, steels their children, and weaves lies that would doom them into nonexistence forever.

         But they had gone discarding his warnings and now they were gone. He knelt in front of the big alter of their goddess, her golden idol sparkled untouched with age, firm unmoving she seemed to look kindly at the man before her. He knelt their giving her his last prayer then with the precise movement of a ceremony he crushed the berries of life into a golden cup he waited then in a dramatic pause he held up the cup to his goddess and drank deeply of the poison. All civilizations secrets died with him. He gave all he could to stop the change and eventually his life. And to what purpose, none would know as the cup fell from his hand hitting the floor at the precise moment his heart and breath continued no more.          


6/7/06
wc:661