My Little Whisper

     To lie beneath the shadows, residing in a world unknown. To know what the weight of darkness feels like. To hear the sounds of silence. Shaken by the world around us. By those very same people that called us brothers. They said we were the same. . . that we were equal. They thought we would forget. That I, would forget. One must not dwell in the past; but it is that very same past that builds the future is it not!? They disgraced our fathers; figured they had the right to judge man. To single handedly pick who lives from who dies. They made us repent for the sin of simply existing within their presence, and then spoon fed us back into their comfort. As if it wasn’t all the while their very own scheme to hack us down in numbers, then wait idly as the hands of nature wiped our pure blood from existence. But as they turned their backs to us, and closed their ears from our voices, they forgot about the little girl that let out a small whisper. A small whisper that snowballed into a scream; a loud, ugly, menacing SCREECH! And with that very same screech she yelled to the heavens above. Prayed for the strength of the Gods. Until one day she had woken from her torturous slumber. Woken to the light of day; and as she opened her eyes to the burn of the Sun, she realized the true nature of what lied past the shadows. The dirty truth that laid before her… There were no Gods to help her; there was no savior. But there was a voice, a whisper, her whisper; and it was time for her to be heard. Time for those same bastards that once turned their backs, to stand forth and raise their heads to her. To hear these very words uttered from these very lips. My name is Aiyanna, and I… am… American.

     July 4, 2030; roughly 106 years after the final battle of the American Regional Conflict. For so long we were slowly fading into a race that “once was”. A race that is hanging on to existence only by a fine thread that was stitched by a face-saving amendment. A law which placed my people onto a lawless set of reserves set to keep us quiet, calm, and forever watched upon. The tribes that once stood strong on top of these very grounds, the warriors that once set the example, and held the pride of my people, were now nothing more than a history exam in school, or a pretty portrait hung on the wall. We not only lost to these so called… “Spartacists” on the battlefield, but we also lost at heart. It was a loss that I was afraid that my people had forgotten. But deep within that dark hallway, there was light. A light that would soon spread throughout the corridors of that very room of which we were casted out to, ultimately awakening a sense of pride within all of us. And at the wake of it all, would stand a large number of people, ready to fight for what is rightfully theirs.

     By now the Native American reserves are no longer the same west coast casino hotspot getaway that it once was a decade ago. With the joining of multiple tribes underneath a central government, the Indigenous American Society was becoming more powerful than ever before. I was 19 years old when we natives began to regain our voices amongst the people of this nation. After years of verbal bickering and protesting, we finally worked our way in to a new light of recognition. However, it was not without a cost. Sadly, a bloody one. September 5th, 2026, 8 people of native descent laid dead on the ground at the newly erected Native American Memorial site in Old York. It was originally built to increase national awareness for the Native American race, but now stands as a memorial of that day, and a harsh example of what this nation is capable of committing.

     Earlier that day, we had held a conference with Senator Carl Sheen, about the rising tensions between the national government and the native people. I was sitting at the center table, accompanied by my mother who was the head of our Native Activists group, which worked to represent our race throughout the nation. I kept close tabs on the arguments that were being presented. I was young and wasn’t allowed much say on the subject. Thus, I sat there, and listened closely. Senator Sheen was a very stern man. He had no intentions on making many negotiations. His main argument was not about our becoming of a significant and established race within the Northern Region Council; the official designation for what was once known as the Land of Americas, but instead, of his concerns with my older brother Tala, who hadn’t been present at this meeting for undisclosed reasons. Tala was once a three-star general within the NRC Marines, until he chose to take an honorary discharge after he’d made a public statement about his opposition to the NRC’s integration of a new weapons technology as a standard for local law enforcements. Claiming that such powerful weapons is not necessary for use against average citizens. Soon as my brother had stepped down from his title as a general, he quickly became our go to source for building our own protection against the government law enforcements. While some of us saw it as a step to getting the NRC government to take us a bit more seriously, some saw it as nothing more than an instigating factor that would soon lead to a violent end. Certainly, the NRC officials did not take to this matter lightly, for the entire scope of the conversations being thrown around at the conference, was of how my brother was potentially “training terrorist” for an attack against the nation. Things quickly went south soon after Senator Sheen stated that, if we refused to shut down our buildup of a fighting force within the next 48 hours, he would be forced to send in officers to shut it down, and ultimately take Tala into custody. As tensions flared, I realized that nothing was to come of all of this. Aggravated, I slammed my hands down on the table and stood up from my chair. The room was suddenly filled with a silence, with nothing left but the resonating sound of my hands hitting the table and echoing throughout the room. I could feel my mother clenching my shirt as she tried to pull me down to my seat, but I did not budge. I made a quick mental note of who in the room was sent by the government. Six soldiers. Three in uniform, three dressed up as government officials. I could tell that they were not who they were trying to appear to be, by the sudden small gestures of their hands moving towards their chest when I stood from my seat. Sheen’s assistant was sitting on his right-hand side. In addition, there were two reporters standing on each side of the table. I focused my gaze upon Sheen; with a silent stare that lasted about five seconds. I leant in over the table and asked him one question.

          “Do you know what it feels like to live beneath the shadows?”

     He slowly sat up in his chair, cleared his throat, and replied:

          “No… However, I’ve come across a few who claim that they have, and it is those very words that bend their minds in to believing that what they say is true. That they have been damned to live in the hell of the everyday life… And it is those same people that push to turn this world upside down, and it is my job to take care of them. Efficiently, effectively, and with little disruption to the surrounding environment. By any means necessary."

     As he eased up from the table and leaned back in his chair, I noticed that he took a glance at his watch. At the same time one of the soldiers in uniform situated right behind Sheen tilted his chin slightly up as if he was making a confirming gesture to the other soldier on his right. As he lowered his head back down, Sheen’s assistant began to gather all his paperwork off the table. Sheen got up out of his chair and straightened up his suit jacket.

          “I believe it is time we wrap it up here.”

     He walked around to the back of his chair to push it in.

          “Are you in a rush Senator?”

     He turned to walk out the door, but before he leaves, he made one final statement.

          “You know…. Not every chicken that crosses the road, makes it to the other side. So, I suggest you look both ways.”

     As he headed towards the door the two reporters took their leave ahead of him, making him the last person to exit, I followed him with my eyes closely. Watching every step… every moment… right up until that door swung back closed. That final second, before everything changed forever. I made one final whisper.