A Chapter by Mehameha

Primitive Culture


Evening, another day, he thought. The strong winds of early morning diminished to a slight breeze and now was still. Darkness crept in from the east as the first stars poked holes in the deep blue veil. Only a faint glow in the west remained of a once life giving warmth. Creatures of the night began to stir, as birds exchanged places with night flyers calling to them with their last refrains. The crickers and tree friggets welcomed this prelude as it was their chance to own the aria's rhythm until the dawn.

This change never ceased to amaze him. It fascinated him. How a change in light could move a world in such a way. But it had always been and would always be. Whether the change was at dusk or dawn, it mattered not. The moments prior to and just after were what he treasured most about being alive.

Securing the flames he stood with his back to the fire. He raised his arms toward the faint glow of the western sky. He silently spoke the incantation taught by the elders. He then circled the flames halfway. With arms pointing east speaking again the elders words. He never questioned the words which he had learned as a boy. He never once thought to ask who may have first spoken them. This was not known. This was never spoken of. It was sacred. That was all one needed to know.

An absent moon would make fire his only source of light. It had been almost a year since he had left. He knew back then the exact reasons why he decided to leave. Only now he was beginning to understand he was wrong. The reasons were wrong, not his decision to leave. Arrogance and pride shielded his vision when he stormed from the others. Now the blindfolds fell from his eyes.

In watching the struggles of his people, he sensed something was not right. He felt their wrath with each question at council, but he lacked experience to guide him toward resolution. So he left feeling misunderstood, unappreciated and mostly unwelcome. Yet he felt strangely close to the eldest members. During such conversations every elder held views like his own. Thinking back, only one difference remained. They were able to live within the clan and he was not. Why? That answer remained hidden.

He sat facing the dancing flames. The wood needed tending. He listened to the night hoots interrupting the ever increasing crescendo. It soothed him. Even the encounters between furry creatures timed their entrance to this opera with perfection. A calmness existed amongst the volume. Each playing a part. Each aware when to enter and when to leave. They have practiced this performance every season of every year since the beginning of the beginning. They were masters and knew their roles before birth.

What an easy existence they had, he thought. They never question their purpose. They know who they are and what they are supposed to do. It was not so for him. He had to endure countless trials. Struggles of the clan wore him down. He had to leave. Only now, alone, he saw the purpose for the sorrows of the past. They were necessary. He thanked the spirits for his struggles. The patient spirits laughed knowing the moment had arrived. Now his spirit within was allowed to speak. It knew when the tongue was tired and the ears were open. This was the secret held by the elders. This was why they were able to live amongst the clan.

© 2016 Mehameha

Author's Note

Preface. I wrote this as a scene-by-scene book. Only enough information is given to complete the scene. The animals are the same as ours and by changing the names slightly the reader should have no issues understanding which are which. I would like to know if I should write a chapter 5. Thank you for reading.

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Added on July 31, 2016
Last Updated on August 5, 2016
Tags: Primitive, Fiction



Honolulu, HI

Classical guitarist, short story writer, woodworker, disabled in wheelchair. Today I return to homelessness. 5/16/17 more..

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