LAST LINES BLOGFEST

Once again it is blogfest time. This time Lilah Pierce's LAST LINES blogfest. http://lilahpierce.blogspot.com/2010/04/my-first-blogfest.html
I'm having to leave for the graveyard shift for the blood center for which I work. {No pun intended.} Anyway, I'll be out flying down the dark rural roads until late, late into the evening, so I'm going to enter the LAST LINES blogfest a bit early.

In the manner of Southwest Louisiana, I am even going to give you a bit of Lagniappe {a little extra.}

Most editors want to compare your first image to your last image to see if there is a definite change or a poetic, lyrical symmetry to them.

So I thought I would give you my first lines as lagniappe, then give you my final lines to my short story THE COLOR OF HER THOUGHTS. It concerns the last Lakota Medicine Person {shaman is a white man's term}, Sugmanitu Hota {Wolf Howl} in our present day. Here goes ...

First Lines :

{When she was thunder in the distance, I awoke. When her laughter was lightning above me, I knew fear. When both front tires to the bus blew, I saw her face in the night.

The Turquoise Woman was angry. At the White Man. Again. Lucky thing I was not a White Man. Or not so lucky.

I was on the bus.}

Last Lines :

I fought another sigh. Abby died from the Mossad's last lie : that the Turquoise Woman was a projection of my will. I shook my head sadly. I never killed the young, while they comprised the majority of GrandMother's victims. To say that she and I held different views of life was an understatement.

GrandMother sounded puzzled. "You knew the young girl was one of the Mossad team all along?"

I nodded. "The color of her thoughts was always death. Always."

From the heart of the dark woods, Bu, the Owl, cried in the voice of the recent dead.

{FINIS}

And now, a bit of music and wisdom from the voices of Native Americans :