“It was a night about like this, on the other side of Bear Mountain.”
George Sharp waved his hand toward the hulking rock face off in the distance. The orange campfire flickered in his black eyes.
“The sky was clear and cold, full of stars. Just like tonight.”
The other men had heard Sharp’s tall tale before, but never in the dark.
“Everything was still and quiet …just me and Elvira hunkering down by the fire with our evening vittles, ready for sleep.”
The only thing Sharp talked about more than that mythical night was Elvira, his long-dead horse.
“I was just dozing off when a fireball shrieked across the sky with the roar of a jaguar.”
Shooting star.
“Now, I know what you’re thinking -- shooting star. But it wasn’t.”
The men elbowed each other and snickered. They knew what was coming.
“In spite of the racket, I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was flying way up above the ground on … I don’t know … some sort of mechanical bird. No, not ‘on’ -- inside it.”
Overhead, a star streaked silently across the sky.
“And there were these … things. I couldn’t see them, but I could feel ‘em, alright. They poked and prodded at me, and then …”
One of the men nudged a buddy and pointed at Sharp’s arm as he stoked the fire.
“Well, they branded me. Burned a big old star right there on my forearm.”
He rubbed the spot the men had noticed.
“And then, they dropped me here in Racoon Valley and told me to wait for them to come back.”
Another star, brighter and roaring like a big cat, arced across the sky from behind Bear Mountain.
The eerie glow lit up the men’s scared faces, and George smiled.
No comments:
Post a Comment