Poet's 100 One-Shot Challenge

[Medusa72]

100 One-Shot Challenge by TheFacilePoet

Injured → Sinking → Father → Exploit → Boredom → Art of Conversation → Take your Best Shot → Creativity → Flash → Puzzling Words → Ill → Skeleton → Nothing → Servitude → Possibilities → Weightless → Just Say It → Last Words → Immature → Blazing → Help → Presence → Because → Forced → Reversed → Cast Away → Emotions → Questions → Wishing → Crackling → Curl Up → Together → Look Again → Brief → Space → Special → Jinx → Stop Fussing → Cozy → Breaking → Either Or → Tell Me a Story → Waiting → Willpower → Who Am I? → Idol → Unseen → Just Try → For Me? → Your Choice! (You got to 50!) → Useful → Treasure → Ceremony → Lightning → Protection → Stay With Me → Mint → Rescue → Dominant → Thief → Deserter → Stolen → Sarcasm → Darling → How Much is too Much? → Over → Try Again → Hidden → Forgotten → The First Time → Aging → Soldiers → Justice → Tread Carefully → One False Step → Connection → Mess → It Can't Be → In Due Time → Awake → Delicious → Fallen → Trickery → Around the Bend → Well Traveled → Choices → Surplus → Rough → If → Friend → Found Not Lost → Spiral → Deep → I Could Have → Desirable → Resentment → Build Up → Inch by Inch → Dilemma → Blue Sky

[Medusa72]

Possibilities

1853
The ship rocked back and forth, twenty-two year old Clemenz Frederick and his seventeen year old cousin, Christian Frederick, had long gotten used to the choppy bumps caused by the Atlantic Ocean. Their extensive journey to the United States of America was soon coming to an end, signaled by one of the crew members, “Wake up schwein!” the man yelled in a loud, husky voice. Clemenz and Christian were roughly shaken awake from their bunk hammocks down below the ship.
“Schwein?” Christian yelled angrily. Clemenz hushed him quietly, warding off any problems a fight might bring.
“We must be here,” Clemenz said, putting on his patchwork pea jacket.
“Schließlich,” Christian said, exasperated. Clemenz couldn’t blame him for being frustrated, they’d been cooped up in the bottom of a ship far too long for comfort, “Tell me again what the plan is,” Christian said to Clemenz.
“We’re going to California, where we’ll buy a plot of land, mine for gold, then, we’ll be rich enough to do whatever we want.”
The chill of the March night swept over the German immigrants. They carried their light sacks containing what little possessions they had over the narrow wooden plank used as a bridge from the ship to the docks. Clemenz and Christian stretched their wobbly legs, adjusting to the still land. They saw a little sign that announced, ‘Welcome to New York’. Clemenz couldn’t repress the smile tugging at his lips. He and Christian were half way through their journey. To California, they would hitchhike with hopes of catching rides with friendly folks.
“Are you the land master?” Clemenz’ asked politely to a man he was directed to after arriving at their destination. The tall, burly man turned to examine thin Clemenz.
“John,” he said, extending his hand.
Clemenz introduced himself and his cousin and expressed his wishes to purchase a plot of land in the mining region. Clemenz then presented his currency. The large man laughed roughly, “This ain’t enough scraps to buy any land around here.”
“What do you mean?” Christian asked incredulously.
“This ain’t no German land, boy. This is the States, nothin’ here comes cheap.”
Clemenz’ stomach dropped, if they couldn’t buy land, then how would they succeed with their goal?
“I got some jobs for hire,” John said, scratching his unshaved face, “You interested?”
Clemenz didn’t know what else to do, so he and Christian signed on as his helping hands. Clemenz figured that if they earned enough money, then they could buy their own land to mine.
It was grueling work, but John kept them fed, which was better than what situation their neighboring miners were under. Clemenz took to hiking away from the ripped dirt, to forest edged fields at the end of the work days. Christian scolded him often, but a discovery made Clemenz return to the fields daily. It was a woman. Her name was Broken Wing—this was her name translated from the Apache language into English—because she had an intense desire to leave her Apache life behind. The elders of her tribe thought it was unnatural that Wing had such curiosity for the American life. In their view, she was broken. A broken wing unable to fly. As a result, Broken Wing was not allowed to be equals with the other Apache people, she was forced to live her life in solitude, separate from her tribe until she renounced her curiosity.
When Clemenz first encountered her, she was doing just as he was doing. Hiking away from where she was oppressed. They had stood frozen, staring at each other. He had been warned of traps and scalping’s, she had been warned of ferocious, violent white men. Their two kinds were not friends.
“You English?” the woman bravely spoke first.
“N-no,” Clemenz stuttered, his face pale, “I am German.”
“You talk English,” she observed.
“Yes,” he said, “I learned fluent English before coming to America with a boy.”
Their first meeting did not last long, but it was not the last time they spoke. “Who boy?” she asked in her broken English.
“Christian,” Clemenz said, no longer tense when he was around her, “He’s my cousin. His mother didn’t have the funds to support him, so when she knew I would be immigrating, my dear old aunt begged me to take him with me.” Clemenz’ German accent became thicker as he thought of the country he left behind.
“You sad?”
Clemenz didn’t want to admit it, “I suppose.”
“Come,” the Native American woman said, grabbing Clemenz’ hand, “I show you something.”
Broken Wing led him through a thicket of trees and vines to a field of sunflowers. One grassy strip ran down the middle. “It’s beautiful,” said Clemenz, “As you are,” he picked one of the flowers and gave it to her. Their faces were flushed, they went home with pleasant thoughts.

Six months had passed before Clemenz came clean to Christian about his relationship with the Apache woman, “What do you mean you met an Apache woman? There aren’t any Apache’s around here.”
“No,” said Clemenz, “she was rejected from her tribe for being too interested in white people.”
“This is ridiculous,” Christian fumed, “Why must I be the voice of reason? You can’t be friends with an Apache woman.”
“I’m not just friends with her.”
“What?”
“I’m going to marry her, Christian.”
“Oh mien Gott. Oh mien Gott Clemenz. Nein! You can’t!”
“Yes,” Clemenz said quietly, and then left.
Christian would not speak to Clemenz after that. He did not even attend his private wedding in the Sunflower field. Broken Wing changed her name back to Wing, she gained an independency that was unbroken. She and Clemenz removed themselves from the gold mines and raised cattle. They had to be discreet with their life, or else the Fredericks would lose customers. Their children had to learn to keep their heritage a secret. Clemenz tried to regain contact with Christian, but he would not reply to the letters or money sent to him. Clemenz and Wing grew old in the country of California.


((Based on rumors of a true story in my ancestry, I wrote this short story for my American Literature class. And got a 100% by the way.))