View Full Version : The Other Side

March 13th, 2012, 07:28 PM
The Side

''Come to the other side!'' shouted Mick to his companion Billy, who stood on the other side of the river. The river was wide; it wouldn't allow for just anyone to cross it. It's bed was full with gold, according to an Indian legend. Legends are good: they allow to question our road paved in gold.

Mick and Billy had begun walking down that road several days ago. They sold some of their stuff back home, and moved for sometime to the legendary place the previous day.

It was worth it, because the place to which they came was a special one. Besides the woods and the rocks and creeks, there were ''ancient'' 19th century huts in which the gold miners used to live in, while their search for gold was pulling their weary legs.

''We're going to find us a gold streak, aren't we, Mick? 'Cause I'm not going back without my baggiess full of gold!'' shouted Billy back at his companion who was waiting for him on the river's other side.

''I can't hear you! I don't want to hear you...! I know you're about your gold rush though! Just like me... maybe! Get accross the river! Here you'll shave! Right here..! 'Cause I can't stand your gold rush mumbling through your foot long beard anymore!'' informed Mick Billy.

''What's that with my beard..?! Hey, I can't hear you clearly!''

''Just get accross the river! And... And try not to lose some of the tools in the process, alright?!''

''The tools...yes..!'' answered Billy and stepped into the legendary fluid. He got to his soaking wet companion soaking wet, and began to shave.

''You know, maybe we're going to be here for a long time, Billy. Did you see the writing on one of the huts' door? It read that it'd been occupied for whole three years..! They'd added ''go home'' to the writing. That was written by another's handwriting.''

''Another's handwriting..? What do you mean by it, Mick?''

''The other handwriting might have belonged to a son, a brother, or some other... tennant of this place's hut.''

''So what?''

''Well, it might be some kind of a loser's advice. Or some hotshot's warning. Or both. More likely something third.''

''Don't start crapping out on me now, Mick..! Not now that I'm shaving my lovin' long time beard!''

''Shut up, shave yourself correct...''

After the shaving was done, and the cloths were dried in the hot day, they went off into the woods. They had to get to know their surroundings. Nothing interesting for the non-outdoor people, except for the rusty cans that lay all over the place under a tree.

Both had already noticed such cans lying around the other side's mysterious huts.

''People had to eat.'' concluded Billy, while getting used to his clean shaved face.

''Nope, Billy. Wrong. These cans are of different brand. My guess is that this had been a place where other people used to spend their time. But, what could they have been doing here? No golden huts here, right?''


They continued to walk through their now home range, the territory more mysterious than the previous one.

Sometime after they found some more cans. Cans of the huts' brand. Both gave each other a look. The cans were of a different shape and look. They seemed to be full of something. Billy made a profane grin.

But, Mick knealed, and picked up one of them. The rust of the can stayed stuck on his palm. He shook the can. It featured a sound of shaking a can half full. A small hole on its top was to be seen. Mick snapped out of it, and suddenly turned the can upside down. Golden powder began to seep out into the high grass. Some of the powder remained on the grass, making it interesting. A wind got started, and the gold flew all around them.

''People of gold...'' thought Mick. ''Have you heard of ''the golden people'', Billy? No, of course you haven't. You'd have to have a drop or two of Indian blood in you. I have. Did you know that? I didn't. Before I've spoken to an Indian asking him to tell me something about this river's place. He told me I was partly Indian. I don't know how he could've known that. My father is one-eight Indian...''

''Don't tell me you believe in that one-eight, Mick'' Billy got inspired, but he wouldn't admit to it.

''Yes, I do, Billy. We are ''golden people'' now. It is our duty now to take care of this place.''

''Take care of it because of what?''

''We're a part of the Indian belief now. That's why.We are on the right path. The Big Spirit created this earth, this grass, this gold, that river behind you, those huts. The cans. It created us, Billy.''

''The ones who put the gold powder there believed in that story, so?'' asked Billy, feeling that he's no match to that earth, to that grass, that gold, that river behind him, those huts, and that story.

''Yes, they did. I can feel it, Billy. I am an Indian now, as I live and breath.''

''Wow, you sure are one...'' a truth spoken in gest came out of Billy.

''Let's pick up all of the cans, and take them back at the huts' '' ordered Mick. Both began to collect the cans and put them on a white cloth sheet. They then put the tied by its ends sheet into a plastic bag, and carried it accross the River. It was a tough job, a ritual as it were.

Once that they got to the huts, Mick took a strange pose, Billy was watching, almost in awe.

Mick lit a fire. Then he began to circle around it, his blue greenish eyes closed. ''He doesn't look like an Indian at all'' Billy thought to himself.

''But then again...'' Billy decided.


After a couple of days both were back in town. Mick payed a visit to the Indian chief's distant relative. He told him all about ''the golden cans''.

''I'm but an Indian chief's distant relative. I can't make you... I won't make you take care of The Place'' said the relative. ''And, the cans... You must have found some of them still containing beef or something?'' asked he.

''Yes. As a matter of fact we did.'' answered Mick slowly but unsurely. The Indian smiled at him.

''Yes, you did. And those cans have passed the expiration date?'' asked the chief some more, and turned on his TV.

''Er... yes, sure.''

''Everything expires, my Mick. Even the Indian legends.'' he had spoken, and switched to another TV chanel.

bazz cargo
March 14th, 2012, 10:55 PM
''Come on over to my side!'' shouted Mick to his companion Billy, who stood on the other side of the river. It was a wide river; it wouldn't be easy for anyone to cross it. According to an Indian legend the river bed was full of gold. Legends are good, they allow us to question our own pathways through life.

Nice little story. A little spooky, a little thoughtful.
I think you are improving.

March 15th, 2012, 10:25 AM
Nice little story. A little spooky, a little thoughtful.
I think you are improving.

Many Thanks, bazz c.,

Other Memebers' Comments Welcome, as usual:)

April 13th, 2012, 01:54 AM
Hey Jamie, I just critiqued one of your works, and I have to agree with Bazz. Your writing has improved a lot. Keep it up. As the saying goes, the more you write, the better it gets. Good luck.