The
people of the tribe in the come around the log, for the leader to tell them
a story. They all sit on hot steaming iron, under which is a great
fire. The shaman gets on the log, while everybody is sweating, and
tells the story:
There
once was a man, wearing dark clothes and dark robe, his face covered
in black cloth. He went to a man of the tribe. He was wearing white
clothes and washing a tissue in the river, getting rid of the black
dirt on it. The dark clothed man kept watching the man, until he
turned around, looking at the dark man, smiling, and said “Hello,
my friend. What took you so long?”, and hugged him, accepting his
fate. The dark man then stabbed the pure man. The pure man felt a
short, painless death, with a smile on his face, a cold metallic
blade piercing through his heart. He fell to the ground. The dark man
then hid the pure dead body in a bush, and washed away the blood with
the tissue, which he then washed and placed at the river's shore.
Many
weeks later, a man stood by the river, fishing. And blood came
pouring through, and blood told him of the dark man's crime. And the
man told the tribe, and the dark man was killed. The fisherman then
looked at what the dark man was carrying, and found a white tissue,
filled with blood.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Comment: