The Sharman Lo, called him Clark, but I’m not sure if that was his real name. What I do know is that we are his offspring’s. Loa was telling the story of how the Mirin came to our world many many years ago. We sat around the large campfire, which always glowed with a hot blaze.
The elders believed that the Mirin would come back if there wasn’t a fire burning in the camp. Lo told us the old ancient story of how our world was very different. He spoke of strange things like buildings as tall as trees, cars and airoplanes, things that I believe the elders saw in their cannabis visions.
Loa spoke of how the world had divided by color, race and money, which was hard for me and my friend to believe. There were many colors in our village, but we never had strife over that or food, which was plentiful in the woods around us.
There was no need for trinkets of what he spoke of called money, because whatever we need we bartered for it. He said that, because man was so divided they did not come together in time. At the first sighting of the large flying airoplanes in the night skies. Man tried to talk with the strangers they called the Mirin, but they did not respond.
Instead, they used what he called ‘blue light,’ to destroy our world. If they destroyed the world how were we still here? I thought often while giggling. Loa said that this ‘blue light’ came from their flying ships that were not like airoplanes. “They floated in the night skies like the frogs on a Lilly pad,” he said.
Man used airoplanes with flying sticks and rocks; rockets he called them, that burst in the sky to stop the ‘blue light’ but it did not help. Loa said man used larger sticks and rocks, while whole villages were lost. I knew he meant that they died.
Loa cried when he said that man used their largest rocks to throw up to the sky at the floating Lilly pads. “Black,” Loa said. “The Sun turned black, black.” I stared up at the bright moon; I knew the sun would return in the morning. She would come, bright and red to fill the day with her light.
Man had no hope left, Loa told us. Yet, it was Clark that showed man the way.
“How,” I asked. I liked this part of the story.
“Clark would not give up the fight, even after the world was black and the Sun had turned, and so many, many villages were gone. So few of man were left after to fight.” He shook his head. “Most were sick and dying, but he showed us that we could not give up. That the earth was ours.”
“What did he do Loa?” I moved closer to the fire.
“He made fire.” Loa smiled and picked up a thin stick out of the flames. “Man used everything he had to bring down the Mirin, but Clark made fire and threw it up to one of those floating Lilly pads.”
“It caught,” I said, excited.
Loa nodded. “It caught and burned.” His toothless smile shinned in the glow of the fire. “Like this stick. It burned and burned. Others made the fire too, throwing them up at the Mirin.”
“They didn’t want that,” I smiled in the nightly blaze.
“Man, now knew why the Mirin came in the night. They hated our yellow sun. Man had turned the skies black, they did for the Mirin’s, what they could not do themselves, but Clark made fire.”
“Clark made fire,” I said picking up a stick too. I danced around the large flames singing. “Clark made fire,” the others said, taking up sticks to come dance with me. Suddenly, our words rang out in the night while the village sang with us children. “Clark made fire.”
Copyright © 2013 Glynis Rankin