Hawaiian Island Cloak

For ten years now I have been tightly locked in this pitch black drawer. Once I was the best, worn by the highest of people. I have seen many chiefs born, grow old and look after the tribe with pride and love. I was crafted with care and delight, made out of the best red and yellow shimmering feathers. But now, as I lie in this drawer, people tell me I am cursed, say that it was all my fault. This is my story of why I am said to be cursed.

The sun shone brightly on the tribal huts. I heard the sound of laughter and footsteps outside the tent I was in. The chief walked in with his wife, Pocahontas. The chief took me down from where I hung and slung me around his shoulders.

“Perfect!” Pocahontas stated, as she fastened me across his neck. “Don’t worry, the general will agree with what you have to say! Don’t worry, it will be fine!” I didn’t really know what was happening, but I did know it was something important. I was only taken down to meet important people. 

The chief strolled out of the tent. The sun heated my face. This was the first time I had seen the sun in about three months. People gathered to see him. He made his way through the people. I was used to this – people gathering to see the chief – but this time was different. Our tribal people walked behind us with spears. Maybe we are going somewhere dangerous, I thought. Whoever we were meeting and whatever we were going to discuss, it wasn’t good.

The chief trekked quite a long way before we got to where we needed to be. It was a tent. It sat in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by trees. Outside the tent stood two men, their heads looking down. They both held a gun which they leant on their shoulders. They were fierce-looking and didn’t seem very welcoming. One of the men pulled open a curtained door, as the chief walked in. I felt him tense.

“Welcome, welcome, have a seat!” a voice said from the dark corner of the tent.

“Don’t let anyone enter unless it’s urgent,” he affirmed to the scary looking man outside the tent. As the man slowly sauntered towards me, I could see what he looked like. 

The man wore a dark, open hunting hat with a white feather attached to it. He walked with a slight limp, as if he had a wooden leg. As his face came out of the shadow of the tent you could see three deep scars going across his face, probably from some sort of animal. He stared at me with judging eyes.

“Nice cloak.” The man limped towards the chief and me.

“Don’t try to flatter me. You know why I am here!” The man nodded and sat down on a chair behind his desk.

“So you’re really going to challenge me, put all of your family and friends on the line…” The man opened a drawer in his desk and brought out a file. I tried to read the name on the file but all I could see was a smudged stamp saying ‘Top Secret’.

“You must be pretty passionate about this!” He threw the file towards the chief and me.

“I am,” the chief answered as he picked up the file.

“Are you willing to die, start a war with these people? How many more sacrifices are you going to make?” I felt the chief’s hands turn into fists. I wasn’t sure what was going on, probably something serious by the tone of their voices. The chief opened the file and BANG…

The next thing I knew the chief was lying on the floor, blood oozing from his stomach.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t risk anymore because of you,” I heard the man say as he walked out of the tent with the file, a gun and blood on his hands.

And that was the last thing I saw. I didn’t know what happened, why he died, what this was all about. After that, people put me in this drawer. I heard people say they were going to burn me and that he died because of me. They didn’t burn me, though, that’s why I am still in this drawer. They thought it would anger the gods and their ancestors. Although I think being burnt would have been the better option, because now I have to live with the idea that I killed him, and I don’t know why we were there or who that man was.

by Milly Weeks