The white men came. They came from all directions. They carried their death machines and wore special cloths that covered the whole body. My mum was confused and my dad was quickly sharpening his best spear. Mum grabbed my hand and ran into the dreaming cave. She was scared and tears were streaming out of her eyes like the blood of a butchered fish. “Everything will be okay Wabiak.” she whispered in my ear. “Everything will be ok.” She ran for the cave entrance to protect me. I should have gone with her because somewhere inside me I knew it would be the last time I saw her.
I hid in the cave for a while; hiding from the white men and their death machines. I watched them that night and studied their movements. I figured how to use their killing sticks. You need to point it at a person and slide a smaller stick on the bottom. My dad taught me how to stalk an animal. Be quiet and sneak. I could almost hear him guiding me through the procedure. I knew what I had to do. I snuck out of the cave to find the white men sitting around the fire laughing at all the brutal ways to kill an “aboriginal”. Then they started saying words like rifle and school.
I crouched down and listened to my instincts. I crawled over and slowly reached for the stick. There were about ten white men around that fire in the middle of the camp. They were laughing and seemed to be having a lot of fun. I was almost under one of the men as I reached for that stick. That one stick could mean life or death. I got ahold of the stick and eased it off the log. Slow and steady, I thought to myself. I snuck back, with the stick in my hand and I thanked the dreaming I was safe and was unseen.
Back in the cave, I knew I wasn’t going to make it through this unless I thought of a good enough plan. I just didn’t know what to do so I went to the walls of our ancestors. The walls always brought anyone good luck in times of need, whether it was hunting or trouble sleeping. The walls were long and had many painting on them.
I scanned across the walls until I saw a mysterious picture. It was of a killing stick that the white men brought. I knew what I had to do. The moon was at its highest point in the sky. The white men were still singing around the fire. I pulled the trigger at a tree and the loud bang echoed into the bush. The men stared at the tree in a state of confusion.
While they were distracted I made a run for it into the bush and didn’t stop running. Eventually I found a big box made from a wood-like material. I found a gap in the box and peered inside and my heart stopped dead. My dad was trapped in there. I hit the big box with the killing stick but it didn’t budge. I looked around the box and eventually found a crease in it. So I aimed the killing stick and pulled the small stick. Luckily one of the walls fell off and my dad was free.
He looked at me and said my soul would be cherished. We walked through the bush for a while, just listening to the birds while I told my story of the night before. He was amazed at what I had achieved without killing anyone.
He said I was ready to hunt like a man now. We found a little lake on the edge of the bush and settled there. Every night I wonder what happened to the rest of our tribe.