Zoe's+Stone+Age+Narrative

Narrative Story Zoe Januszewski His beady eyes stared at me with hunger. I saw its hunger plunge its barbed arrow into my heart; I slashed my claw across its face. A feeling of death showed in its face, blank with shock. I left it half dead, and bolted away snarling trying to sound fierce; with my mother at my side. Now as I, a young male bear cub named sage from the paleo lythic era, stand here picking bitter berries with my mother, I hear the faintest yelping. Creeping towards the yelping, I stopped dead. A young man stood there, frozen screaming, “Bear! Bear!” Soon I heard a deafening bellow, it was a man with a gang of hunters tagging behind. The hunters carrying string of salmon, rabbits that had been strangled, and a large deer being carried by three very masculine men. The now dead rabbits eyes were telling me to run. I saw them clutching their deer bone arrows, and sharp spears with blazing sharp points ready for aim. My mother shoved me behind her, protecting me from danger. I hid in a log, peeking through a little crevice in the mossy warmth. My mother stood there staring at a man in deerskin robes, and clutching an obsidian spear red with blood from today’s hunt, and a leather sack with a long strap made of vegetable fibers. His worn deer skin shoes inched forward, threatening my mother. Next thing I know, my mother lay dead, with relinquish in her eyes. A spear was plunged deep in her heart, and the hunter pulled the spear out waiving his hands with relief, and victory. The spear glossed with red. He walked away with a very proud gait. He and his tribe hunters marched to camp. That night I lay in a deserted cave, eyeballing the smudged paintings on the cave wall. The walls telling a story, and reminding me of the time of my happiness ; before that awful man sunk his spear in my mother. The deer and “mountains that walk or mammoths danced on the chalky walls. Now, two summers have passed, and I see a boy, about thirteen summers, fishing. While I scoop up unexpecting salmon from the lake, then I realize this is the same boy who cried, “bear”! As I glare at him, he looks at me with displeasure, a touch of guilt in his eyes. He remembers how he left my mother dead and me broken hearted. As he tip toes forward with fear, he reaches an outstretched hand, offering forgiveness. As the blazing sun floated into a baby pink and lazy orange, we crept though the rippling grass to his camp. His leader, the one with the deerskin roes who plunged his spear in my mother. Shrieked with horror. Because he was so dishonored with killing my mother, and seeing me, he now stays in hiding, painting all the deaths of the animals he killed haunting him. Now my newly found friend feeds me duck, duck eggs, freshwater mussels with gooey pink flesh, and other delicious findings. He tells me of his days work, or of his former, fearful leader. Or even his sightings of the giant deer that few have caught a glimpse of. Someday I hope all animals, and the whole human racefeel the way I do. We are allconnected, we are family. And sometimes pushing away, just brings us closer