(This is what we call eyewitness journal for the subject of social studies. We are to write in the perspective of a person or people in history. In this post, I am a Native American and I go through the pain of seeing my people die out because of the arrival of Christopher Columbus)

Megan N. Tierney
9/11/10
History
Eyewitness Journal #2

The sun blossomed from behind the blue mountain, signaling the start of a new day. The embers in the fire outside of the longhouse still danced from the previous night. We had gathered all in our territory (including the man my parents had chosen for me as a husband, Bluewolfe) for story-telling under the great black sky. Grandfather Runninghorse led the final story of the Thunderbird and after, sent all the children to a sleep filled with frightening dreams. Who knew that today, this ordinary day, would morph into the day when it all changed.
I headed to my typical job of grinding out the acorns into flour and prayed to the god of rain that he could bring his showers upon the parched earth. Thirty minutes later, the sky turned black and it began to rain, causing me to revert to the longhouse. The house's orange pet fox named Kiko had followed inside as well and curled up into a sleep in the corner. I had stayed up late last night speaking with my soon to be husband and was very tired myself. My mother was burning incense and soft drum beats could be heard in the distance: the two things that could always get me to fall asleep. During my rest, I had had an awful dream about running at night through the forest from something. Some grand, white material of some sort was slowly descending before me with out cease, giving off a ghostly effect. It wouldn't stop chasing me. Its pace grew faster and faster and fast-... Bluewolfe had awoken me in a cold sweat, saying I had been shouting in my sleep. We decided to take a walk. It was sunset, casting brilliant colors against his face and mine. Bluewolfe was a amazing man and I loved him as much as I could, but I was curious as to why Mother and Father picked him out of all the men in the Pomos to be my husband. A mere five minuets had passed before my nightmare was to come to life. Humongous, white sails had seem to come out of nowhere and slowly emerged into view. Bluewolfe instructed me hide back in the longhouse, but I wanted to see what was happening so I hid behind a bush and took out the only weapon I ever owned, my knife. Some man that whose face had features I had never seen before stepped onto the land and simply skipped around as if he had discovered this land without our people being here. He spoke in an odd, flow y ways, rolling his 'R's and held himself confidently. It was as if my people weren't even here! We managed to mind our business for a while (although, I'm not quite sure how) but sooner or later, this strange man had brought even more people like him! More and more came and had odd names such as “Christopher” and “Juan”. I had heard Father speak of what they called themselves: the Spaniards. As more and more of these Spaniards came, the smaller and smaller my tribe grew. One day, I couldn't even find Bluewolfe by side in the morning as he always is. He wasn't in the longhouse. I asked mother if he had gone hunting, and she asked me where my father was. Where is the man who will soon be my husband and my father? I went to Grandfather Runninghorse and sure enough, he knew exactly what had happened to the both of them. In the middle of the night, they were taken by one of those abnormal people and told to work on the Spaniard's land, the land that once was the forest. They had not only taken my father, but they took my husband and the forest along as well. Months had passed without a single word from either of them, and Mother grew morbidly ill. I was desperately looking for natural remedies of the forest to cure her, but they were all gone along with the forest!
All the Spaniards spoke of was how rich they could be off this land, off our land. Apparently not are land anymore. Mother died one winter night and I knew I had to escape this deathly place that our land has turned into. I noticed I had become horribly sick as well. Grandfather Runninghorse, thankfully still alive, took me under his care. At the last hours of my life, he told me that Bluewolfe was still alive and wanted to give me a message. The message was this: I love you through the pain of my everyday life. My only wish is that I could take away all the pain in yours. That night, I had gone into the most peaceful dream I had ever had, and never woke up in the morning.