The End of the World

The predator stays low in the long and yellowed grass, buffalo hide weighing on his back. He watches the herd of lazy lumbering beasts ahead, stocky and graceless, belying their true speed and stamina. Their heavy hooves stamp the ground with crushing strength, drooping eyes scanning the grassy plains beneath long-horned protrusions; one-to-one, they would make quick work of him.

In the distance, grey smoke billows from a distant treeline towards a cloudless sky. The buffalo raise their heads, flapping their ears against irritant flies, but do not move.

This is his signal. His tribe is ready.

He moves into a crouch, now visible in the grass but remaining obscured by the furs. A deep, loud keening rises from his chest; an imperfect imitation of a distressed calf. Several horned heads turn and the herd trots towards him. He waits until they are close enough to lure, but not so close as to see through the ruse.

Suddenly he stands, turns, and runs. He hears the whooping and yelping of his tribe as they emerge from the treeline, whipping the herd into a frightened stampede. He runs as fast as his legs can manage, acutely aware of the loud thunderous roll of panic gaining on him. He leads them to an open space, backed onto large rocks and surrounded by felled trees. At the last moment he dives underneath a protruding rock.

Three of the beasts’ rush into the trap. Atop the wooden walls, more of the tribe nook their arrows and throw their spears. The rest of the herd scatters in various directions, the fading sounds of hooves on the ground giving way to cries of the dying.

His father’s head emerges from over the rock, signalling it is safe. He scrambles out and looks into his father’s face; a wide, flat nose and moderately prominent brow bone, a mirror of his own features. His father clasps the back of his neck, pressing his forehead onto him, staring into him with intense and unblinking eyes.

You have done well for us.

He releases him. A low rumble rings out around them and for a moment they wonder if the herd has returned; but then the ground beneath them trembles with no buffalo in sight. As quickly as it had started, it stops. The two men look at each other. This is a bad omen, one among many over the past several days.

The sun sets and the moon rises. A hungry fire flickers near the mouth of the cave. The people with their stone axes and sharp flint had skinned and butchered the buffalo. The smell of cooking meat is pungent and alluring. He knows they will eat well tonight.

He sees his father, communing with the Wise Woman. She is older than anyone he’d ever encountered, with long silver hair and milky eyes. Her hands shake, the joints of her fingers bulbous, as she carves symbols into the dust of the cave floor. Her wisdom and knowledge keeps the tribe alive and well, which is why his father often consulted her; but this time, both of their faces are creased with concern. He has not seen them so worried before.

The firelight dies. Happy and full bellies give way to sleep. Watchers at the entrance of the cave wait jealously for their turn to slip under the covers of soft furs. He is half awake, staring out at the glimmering lights in the sky. Distant noises of the wild echo out to him. Suddenly, the low rumbling comes again. The watchers lose their balance, steadying themselves on the cave walls. Debris and dust fall all around. The trembling ground rouses people from their sleep. Sounds of panic fill the air. A loud cracking sound startles him as he tries to get to his feet, but the earth shakes him off balance. Abruptly, it stops. This was longer and more violent than the last one.

He looks towards the source of the cracking sound; a lightning bolt of a rift runs jagged along the roof of the cave. Small chunks of stone fall out. A moaning creak echoes from deep within. His father’s alarmed barking sounds pierce his ears and the message is clear: GET OUT.

People rush to the cave entrance. Large chunks of debris pound violently into the ground, into people, into his shoulder. He sprawls painfully across the cave floor. The ringing in his ears drowns out the screams. A giant rock slams down next to his head. He gets to his knees. Hands grab his arms and wrench him forward.

He is suddenly nose-to-nose with his father, open sky above them. His father’s gaze drifts behind him and he turns around. Stone boulders stand where the cave entrance once stood. He tries to turn back but there is no time. Another violent shake knocks them down again. He watches as the earth opens with a deafening boom, swallowing the grass and the trees. The crevasse gets wider and wider, greedily sucking in the ground itself, and he helplessly wonders if it will swallow the entire world. Bright liquid fire begins to spurt out of it like blood from a mortal wound. More fire burns the horizon. In the distance, black ash is shot into the sky with a roaring bang.

He is too awestruck to be afraid of his impending death. The fury of the Great Spirit is the most beautiful and terrifying thing he’d ever seen. He looks to his father, and in his father’s eyes he sees the same question that burns in his mind: is this the end of the world?