The Strangers
The sounds of commotion filled the darkness. Aone awoke in his sleeping area with sleeping area was filled with the throat-tightening smell of dust particles. The taste buds at the top of his throat could not only feel the smoke, but it could also taste the smoke. He could feel pieces of the sod ceiling cascading down on his face, arms, and the covering he used to keep warm at night. The muffled voices, the vibration of the ground around him and especially the huge leg that was protruding through the far end of his sleeping area space made him instantly alert. He could hear the voices of others of his kind. He could hear the sound of his sister Maco, her voice calling out in terror for his father and mother. He could hear the muffled yelling of voice that belonged to the one who must be with the owner of the leg. As he flattened himself against the side of his sleeping area room he could see the leg disappear abruptly through the opening that it had made. The single candle in his room barely casting enough light and waving shadows as its flame swayed back and forth amidst the falling dirt and swirling dust. Now, more screams and yells from his other family members. A yell that was punctuated by large, gruff sounding voices. He tried vainly to make his way to the main room area that led to an opening to the outside, but could not make it past the small opening to his sleeping area. His way was blocked by a wall of dirt. He was trapped in his own sleeping area. He felt helpless at the thought of it, but his mind could not dwell on. How could this be? He had gone to sleep in the peaceful assurance of what he thought would always be the same, as it had been, as they always had been.
His kind had always kept to themselves. Living in the forests without worries was who they were. Forest people. Some would even call them “Little people.”