Buffalo Hunt

I found this in my 'my documents' folder. I wrote it for my creative writing class, my senior year of high school. I believe the assignment was to use one of the various WPA murals we had hanging in the hallways as inspiration. And now I'm inflicted in on you. Cheers.

"Last night I had the strangest dream, man." said Ige Chi before he took another drag on his cigarette. Ige exhaled and sat there, staring at Ahmad, who looked like he could care more about the economic policies of Franz Kafka. Ahmad sat restlessly as he twiddled with a small piece of paper and a clump of tobacco. Ahmad, ultimately deciding to roll up his cigarette while his friend related his escapades in REM sleep, made no response. Ige saw all of this but didn't pay it any mind, Ige was determined to tell him his dream; the dream would catch his attention.

"I'm walking in this field, it's full of tall grass, but it's not like any field I've ever been to before, and - like I said - it's full of this tall grass, you know, the kind you'd see on some nature show or something. "You know, it's one of those fields full of those tall grasses and it's got trees encircling it."

Ige looked around and took another drag from the fag; the cafe was small but fairly populated. Soft music mused on in the background, soothing jazz. The cafe-goers were all nicely comforting to Ige and one particular cafe-goer, nicknamed: "left-hand corner, in the blue" was particularly comforting, actually she was exciting. Ige caught yet some more eye contact from "in the blue". But Ahmad was oblivious to this and rudely interrupted Ige's silent communication. "So...?" he said in a manner that Ige thought was extremely rude "Couldn't he see I was working the eyes?"

"So everything seems cool, you know? "Nice and tranquil, no problem, no sounds, right? "And all-of-a-sudden bam! "I hear this cool east Indian music, as if it was the soundtrack to the dream, you know, it's like sitars and drums; and they play this hypnotic tune, fast-paced and repetitious. "And from outta the woods a herd of buffalo come rifling down a path, straight for me. "And I'm thinking: `Aw shit man, I'm dead' and the buffalo are knocking down the trees and their going through that tall grass like it ain't there and they're headed straight for me."

More smoke left Ige's mouth, as he placed the half cigarette in the ashtray on just the right angle so to let the ashes fall right in the center of the tray and also to keep the butt angled for easy access.

"Just beyond the buffalo I see Indians running after, throwing spears and shooting arrows. I can see that they're rounding the buffalo up, like a rodeo, you know? "Well that would be all well and good if they weren't herding them straight for me!"

Almost a dead quiet floated across the room, much like what Marx must have envisioned the specter of Communism hovering over Europe. The music played but was conspicuously quiet. Ahmad shrunk from the stares that his friend's exclamation gave him. Ige corrected his hair and calmed himself. More smoke escaped from between his lips. Ahmad looked around the cafe, greeting all the stares with quips and smiles. "Hiya... no, we're fine, thank you... what you looking at Skippy?" and other such discourses left his mouth as a defense to the embarrassment he was experiencing, "what was this fucker trying to do, single us out more so than we were already?" Ahmad then turned back to Ige and looked at him with a fierce, sharp glare and then softened as if to say "and?". Ige nodded and continued.

"Okay, so the Indians are herding the buffalo straight for me, right, and did I mention that the music has sped up and become more sporadic? ... "Well it has. "So I see that I'm gonna die if I don't get the hell out of there; I turn right around and jet. "But the buffalo are too quick, and by this time the music is blaring; it's just plain nuts, `batta batta, bum bumm, barrakaka.' right?"

Ahmad nodded quietly and let Ige light his nicely rolled cig. The record was turned to the "B" side and began in full swing with Louis Jordan's classic "Choo choo ch'boogie". Ahmad then slumped back in his chair and concentrated on the dream, closing his eyes to heighten the visualization. Ige, on the other hand, was sitting close enough to the table to make sweet love to it, and was almost shaking enough to carry out the deed. He put the square back in the ashtray and smashed out the flame, watching the smoke fly buck up to Sister Sky in a beautifully intricate spiral, twisting to the winds desires as if they were dancing an ancient, forbidden waltz. Ige peered into the smoke and continued.

"Just as the buffalo reach me, the music is drowned out by the thunder of the hooves, which seems to be all around me, in front, behind, left, right... even under me. "And as I look down to my feet, I see only hooves. "I've become one with the herd. "I hear the thunder even louder now, as we run along together, not in fear, but it's just what buffalo do. "I run along side my brothers, in perfect sync with my world. But as I am one of the slower, I drift off to the side of the herd; a scarily familiar Indian archer pops up a hundred yards ahead of me. "And since he's right in front of me I slow to a halt a scant ten yards away to avoid trampling him. "The music stops. "I stare right into those hypnotic, familiar eyes; he into mine, with his shaft in hand, the bow fully tensed. "We stand there for what seems to be a score millennia, what in actuality must have been two nanoseconds, or was it? "I snort and swish my tail about, to rid myself of some pesky flies; he, in a strangely, familiar way, lowers his bow."