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Sunday, November 8, 2009

November drabbles - 8

“Look! People.”
“Friends.”
“And dogs. Let’s talk.”

But the strangers turned away and ran, with dogs kicking sand at their heels.

“They’re natives, see.”
“Get back to the ship.”
“I think that dog’s a wolf.”

From hilltops, strangers stared while white men wheeled around in their boat. “Why don’t they care?”
“Why don’t they share?”
“Why don’t they just float away?”

Then as a wolf turns round in its bed, Mayflower returned to spill her pilgrim load.

“D’you think they’re friends?”
“Don’t know.”
“Where will it end?”

They landed, empted graves and stores alike, denying hope. “This land is mine.”

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