Bridge to the Whispers of the Past (2nd)

The shadow of the wagon was getting longer. Jimmy and Sarah sat on the tailgate as the horses plodded into the sunset. The wobble of the wagon was rhythmic and Sarah began to sing.

         “How I long to be living where the prairie flower grows,
         I'd be willing to start walking to the place that I love so.
         It beckons and I reckon I would work for any wage,
         To be again, be free again, where the bloom is on the sage.”


Up ahead, a covered bridge stretched over the small river that led home. Laying in wait under the bridge was Flying Eagle and his band of Sioux. Flying Eagle saw the small dust cloud in the distance as the covered wagon crept closer. The Sioux readied their bows and quieted their horses beneath.

As the wagon crept closer they heard the sound of a small voice singing. Flying Eagle held up his hand. The voice was soothing and melodic. He hesitated. The hot wind whistled through the beams of the bridge. He recalled the song. His mother, half-Sioux half-white, sang it to him when he was young.

He’d long ago disavowed the whites. Yet somehow this song meant something to him – a memento of his mother. Still he held his hand high as Sarah sang the song anew.

         “For most people there's a spot that lives forever,
         Deep within their fondest memories.
         Tho' I have been a rover I have never
         Seen anyplace that I would rather be than---“


The wagon crept closer as the horses’ clopping feet pounded on the dusty road. The rattle of wooden wheels clattered on the bridge above as dust sifted through the planks and fell at Flying Eagles’s feet. As the wagon faded into the distance, his hand never wavered.

299 Words
Flash Fiction Must contain: Flower, shadow, bridge



Note: The song is an old cowboy song called "When the Bloom is on the Sage" author unknown.