Short Story of the Day, Flash Fiction, Pearlin Jean by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe

And I, to whom so great a vision was given in my youth,–you see me now a pitiful old man who has done nothing, for the nation’s hoop is broken and scattered. There is no center any longer, and the sacred tree is dead.

—-Black Elk

Nasher Sculpture Center, Dallas, Texas

From my blog (I called it an “Online Journal” then), The Daily Epiphany, Saturday, August 4, 2001

Ghost Dance

There is too much heat and too much driving. I look into the tinted car windows and wonder who these people are and where are they going? Are they looking at me and thinking the same thing? I don’t think so.

There are too many huge houses, identical, newly sprawled across land I used to ride my bicycle through, open plains.

I dance my ghost dance and the suburbs will go away, the buffalo and the coyote will return. The concrete will fly upward. The asphalt will crack and rise in a riot of lifting. Brick and sheetrock tumble upwards, spiraling to the sky in a giant tornado, sweeping the plains clean – down to the black fragrant dirt.

And a piece of flash fiction for today:

Pearlin Jean by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe

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