• Every time I look at snow, glistening white as purity and innocence of life, it reminds me of a war gone by. Back when the “New World” was my people’s land. Blood made the innocence, the purity wash away with violence, the hellish terror the last of my “protectors” and I had to witness. Blood was so abundant, it became a rapidly moving river that we thought leads straight to the gates of the Underworld themselves. We slowly followed the footsteps of Death, of our tribe’s warriors, still struggling to live. We passed the moaning warriors slowly, all in their garb of deer’s skin, fashioned especially for their rank. Suddenly, I heard a low whisper, my father’s muted skin.
    “Pocahontas, my daughter, come closer,” he muttered. I ran as fast as a cougar with my “protectors” trailing behind me, trying unsuccessfully to catch up. Once I found him by his blood speckled, white horse, unfortunately speared through its stomach. I knelt down carefully so I wouldn’t hurt him more than he already was. He was chocking on his own blood slowly, his strong hands, full of pure amber colored blood, our enemy’s blood. I saw a slit in his muscular throat, showing the blood stained neck bone in all its glistening glory.
    “Yes father, what is it that you wish from me,” I softly asked, trying to hide all of my concern and sadness, trying to stay strong in front of him.
    “I want you to keep on remembering me, and to go and see both your mother and sister. I know that you don’t know who your mother is, so I want to take this key and open the box carved out of the Elder Oak by my bed, that should help you find her,” he slurred, now holding my sinewy hand. While he looked me straight in the eyes, I had a strange feeling that he was looking through my eyes to see straight into my soul.
    “I promise father, I will, now hold on we are going to…”
    “No, its my time, let me go in peace, knowing that you are still safe and alive,” he gurgled. Then his hand’s grip softened around mine, let go and left a beautifully carved antler key in it. His eyes showed that he was gone from the world, I closed them for him, making it seem like he was just taking a nap before a long discussion at our camp. The only differences with that was that his mouth was open and filled with blood and his wound kept on gushing his now useless blood on to the white ground and on his beautifully made deer and buffalo ensemble.

    ---------------------------1893, England, 4:37 pm ---------------------------
    “Pocahontas,” my husband called echoed in my head, throwing my out of my gruesome memory. “Are you okay? You became pale when you saw the Frozen Angel’s tears falling.”
    “I’m fine, lets get inside John, its getting cold and I Don`t want you getting sick again,” I hastily decided. From the Frozen Angel, ha, more like a reminder, a message from my demons, the demons of the Underworld, laughing at me for what I have yet to do and have already done for my father.