Week 13 and 14 Storytelling Posts

If you are looking to comment on a storytelling post, I am done for the semester...I have an A!!!! I have a couple of papers to write soon, so, if you need to comment on a blog post just to get your points, you could pick any of the individual stories on my Project Page. 

Thanks!

Week 12, Storytelling:

My name is Oifa and I am an air-demon. My home is a cave where I live in total darkness. I have no shape nor do I make a sound; I cannot communicate with anyone and I have been alone for the last nine hundred years. I have lost everything and the spider is my only friend. I used to be a human with a husband, stepchildren, a family, and a home but I ruined that for myself through jealousy.

My sister, Ove, and King Lir had a good marriage and four beautiful children together. Ove died after having the last one. My father felt sad for Lir and so he offered me to him as a sort of “replacement” wife. At first I loved my stepchildren and was very proud to be raising them for my sister. But, after so long of Lir waking and laying with the kids, who slept at our feet, every morning, I could not stand it anymore. We needed some privacy, but Lir would not hear any of it, so as the days wore on, the more jealous I became. I tried to have them killed. I am not proud of it, but I did. When I was refused this favor, I did the only thing I knew to do. I put a spell on them to turn them into white swans. I left them their voices and that was my undoing. Their father found them and told him what I had done. Lir told my father and he punished me to this form forever.

So, that is how I came to be who I am. A demon with no purpose but ruin. I hide out in this cave for years at a time. I have magic, but I cannot even help myself, only hurt others. What I would give to be able to talk to someone, or to be able to touch anything, to feel the grass under my feet, to smell the flowers blooming in the Spring, to feel a lover’s touch. Over the years no one has come near my cave. I used to go wander the towns that were near by, but every time I caused some sort of unintentional doom. I have noticed a young man that is herding his sheep come by every now and then. I have just now worked up the nerve to try to contact him.  Sometimes when he is taking a break near the entrance of my cave, I walk up behind him, but all he notices is the brief wind I make as I try to speak to him. I hope one day soon he hears me.

Waitomo Cave Entrance by James Shook. Source: Wikimedia Commons.

Author’s Note: My story is based off of the short story The Fate of the Children of Lir from the Celtic Fairy Tales II Unit. Oifa, who was the second wife of King Lir, was said to be made into an air-demon as punishment for turning his children into swans. I wondered what happened to her after her part in the story was done. The word/associations of feathers, east, spider, divination, darkness, and Thoth all come from the pagan attributes of the Air element. I figured since air was specifically said, that it probably refers to the four elements from witchcraft, which is Earth, Air, Fire, and Water.

Bibliography: More Celtic Fairy Tales by Joseph Jacobs, 1895

Week 11, Storytelling: Foolish George

There once was a boy named George that lived on a farm with his mother and father. He was an only child and his father was a drunk. Some days his father would wander around in the woods behind the farm and George would follow him to make sure that he did not hurt himself. One day his father broke his ankle in a hole but he wasn’t strong enough to support him so he could walk back to the house. His father told him to run back to the farm and get a hand saw. When he came back, his father pointed to a thick limb and had him cut it down. There was a V-shape at the top that worked perfectly as a crutch. After some extra pruning, his father and George made their way back to the house. 

Years later, George was just an old homeless man living under a bridge in London. Everyday he would go beg on the streets for money, food, or whatever anyone was willing to give. The only possession he had was the walking stick that his father had used when he was a boy and had kept for the rest of his life. George always took the stick with him no matter where he went because it was his only possession. 

One day while George was on the corner begging, a man in a suit was walking by and stopped in front of him

“Where did you get that stick?”, the man asked excitedly.

“I’ve had this since I was a boy, I didn’t steal it sir!”, George answered defensively.

“I’m sorry, I did not mean to offend you”, the man started, “but was only interested in where you cut your stick from.”

George thought about whether or not to answer the man and he figured what harm could come from telling him. “I cut it for my father when I was a child at our old homestead, but it has long been sold and tore down.”

“That is okay. Can you remember how to get to the property and the tree?” the man asked, still visibly excited.

“Yes, I can. Why do you want to know?”

“Because I, dear sir, am going to make both of us very rich!”

The man immediately grabbed George by the arm and began to drag him down the street with him. As they walked, George learned that the man’s name was Gwydion, an old and powerful sorcerer and that had been looking for the tree for a very long time. George did not believe him at first since he looked like a man in his 30’s and was wearing a business suit. Gwydion took George to the passenger side of a very expensive car and helped him inside. They took off immediately with George giving directions.

When they arrived at the property, Gwydion went to the trunk and pulled out two shovels. He carried them and followed George as he instructed George to lead him to the tree. When they arrived, Gwydion asked if George would help him dig. George figured what did he have to lose.

They soon came to a flat rock and Gwydion seemed to be about to bust out of his skin.

“What has got you so excited, boy?” asked George.

“Like I said, old man, I have been searching for this tree for a very long time, longer than you have been alive. Will you come with me?” Gwydion asked as he pulled back the rock and exposed a staircase.

When George peered into the hole, he was scared. More scared than he had ever been, but Gwydion had assured him that it was perfectly safe and that he would soon have more money than he knew what to do with. George had never had money and had even less the older he got. He was starting to get excited himself and soon he was about to bust out of his skin with excitement also.

As they descended the stairs, the first thing they saw was a bell. George leaned over, getting close since it was dark.

“DO NOT touch that if you know what is good for you.” Gwydion half yelled. “Just whatever you do, do not. Touch. That. Bell.”

As they ventured further into the cave, they came to an open cavern. The floor was covered in rows and rows of sleeping warriors, their hands folded over their chests. In the middle of the room was a round table, all of the men there were bent over the table and sleeping themselves. But at the head of the table was a man who seemed to defy description. He was tall, even sitting down, you could tell that. He had a very handsome face and was adorned in jewelry and a crown.

“That, is King Arthur.” Gwydion pointed and whispered to George.

“THE King Arthur?” George asked. He could not believe what he was seeing. This was a myth that mothers and fathers told their boys when they were little, not a real living man.

“They are asleep, and I assure you they are real, but they are not mortal.” Gwydion said. 
“They have been placed here by Arthur himself to come back when they are needed most. The bell is what will wake them, so no matter what, again, do NOT touch the bell on the way out.”

At that moment George noticed the big pile of gold at the back of the cavern. They both grabbed their fill and were headed out when George decided he wanted to meet King Arthur and wanted to see what it would look like if all of those warriors stood up at once. As they were leaving, he reached over and rang the bell as loud as he could. 

Gwydion turned around and yelled “FOOL! You have doomed yourself now.”

At that moment George turned back to face the cavern and found himself face to face with the great King. George didn’t have a moment to get a word out. He was grabbed by the throat and dragged back to the cavern. King Arthur laid him down next to a warrior and touched him on the head. George fell into a deep sleep along with the other warriors only to be awoken when they were needed most.

(King Arthur, Pyle. Source: Wikimedia Commons)

Authors Notes: This story is based on the story of Arthur in the Cave in the Welsch (Thomas) Unit. I originally wrote this story during the second week of class. I, obviously, had not figured out how exactly everything worked, so I wrote a story based on my extra reading of that week, which was Ovid's Metamorphosis I. My reading this week was the first Celtic Fairy Tales. 

Week 10, Storytelling: Sticks and Bones

In a small metaphysical shop in the middle of the French Quarter, there is a woman standing outside her door. Her shop has been here for over forty years and is full of new things and of things older than she is. This is the first place visitors go on their witchery tours of New Orleans. She is known to her friends and customers as Miriam, but her true identity is much more...serious.

After the tour joins her, Miriam scuttles around her shop as the new group shifts about looking at things, picking them up, turning them over in their hands. She stops and talks to everyone that is there. Usually, people only buy one or two things, just to say they bought something at a ‘real Voodoo store in New ‘awlins’, but sometimes she had special visitors show up. Today, that person was in this group and she was a powerful one. The girl wasn’t aware of her full potential, but Miriam could see it right away. As the girl went from shelf to shelf, running her hands over some stones, she stopped in front of a set of bones. She stood there and cocked her head like she was trying to make sense of them. Miriam walked up behind her and stood for a minute and watched. Miriam stepped beside her and touched her arm.

“Those are bones for throwing,” she said softly.

“What is that?” the woman said as she turned her head slightly and looked at Miriam out of the corner of eye.

“It’s a way of telling the future, like tea leaf reading, tarot, or palm reading. What is your name, honey?” Miriam asked.

“Lucy,” she returned with a smile. There was something about this old lady she liked, she thought.

“Well, Lucy, you ought to pick out a pair and maybe I can show you how to work them.”

“Oh, no, I can’t,” she said as she flipped over the bag to look at the price. “Yeah, I can’t,” she sighed as she placed them back on the shelf. “I’ve overspent on this trip already. These aren’t that much, I know, but I just can’t.”

Miriam looked around and turned back to Lucy. “Can you come back later, by yourself?”

“Uh...yes, ma’am. Probably so, why?” Lucy asked timidly.

“Well, you just come back by around nine and we will talk then,” Miriam said as she gave her a little wink.

“Oh, I better get going! it looks like the tour is leaving me,” Lucy said as she started walking towards the door. “I will see you later!” she called behind her as she waved goodbye.

At nine o’clock, the bell over the door rang as Lucy walked in. She looked around at the shop she had visited earlier during the day. It had a whole different feel at night. Candles were lit and there was a thicker incense smell than before, too. She breathed deeply and closed her eyes. As she was exhaling, Miriam walked out from the back of the store.

“Hello, Lucy. I’m so glad you came back,” Miriam said as she walked up to Lucy and grabbed both of her hands.

“Me too,” Lucy said as Miriam gave her hands a squeeze.

“Well, let’s just cut right to the chase shall we. I don’t know if you know it or not, but you are one powerful little girl,” Miriam said as she walked towards the back of the store.

Lucy stopped in mid-step. “What are you talking about? This,” she gestured around the room referencing Voodoo in general. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“No, I’m not, and I don’t think we have time to ease you into this. Things are a little more...dire than I realized earlier today,” Miriam spat as she grabbed Lucy by the arm and started pulling her to the back room.

The room was small with a little table centered in front of the fireplace. There were small altars all around the room, each one designated for a different deity or ancestor. Miriam gestured at one of the seats.

“Sit down, please. We need to get started,” Miriam said as she sat down and grabbed a bag from underneath her chair. It was the bag that Lucy had been looking at earlier.

“Wow, well, this escalated quickly,” Lucy laughed a little to herself.

“Yes, well, like I said, we don’t have much time to waste. My time has grown…short,” Miriam said as she poured the bones out on the table.

“First off, my name is Miriam. I am a priestess of Voodoo, as you probably already know, but I have another purpose,” Miriam said and looked at Lucy. She wasn’t sure if the child was ready for what she was fixin’ to lay on her, but she didn’t have a choice. “What I really am is death, not like what you think of as death, but that is my role.”

Lucy sat back in her chair and stared at Miriam. This is a dream, she thought, a really bad freaked out dream. Did she get some bad weed from that guy last night or what? But the more she sat processing what Miriam just said, the more right it felt. Why it felt right, she wasn’t sure, but she trusted her gut and it had never steered her wrong before.

“OK,” Lucy said. She inhaled and exhaled loudly. “What does that mean?”

Miriam was taken aback at how well Lucy just took that little bit of information. Maybe she was more capable than she originally thought, which would make the transition much easier.

“Well, that means that every night, I sit down at this table and the outcome decides the fate of the souls on this earth. Have you heard the saying ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones’...? Well, in this case, it’s ‘Sticks and bones’ but the words will hurt you.”

Lucy and Miriam leaned in close over the table and began discussing what would come next. As Miriam grabbed the bones and threw them down on the table, the candlelight touched her smile.

Affaire de Bizoton 1864. Source: Wikimedia Commons.

Author's Note: This story is inspired by the tale The First War that is included in the Apache Tales unit. When I read the first paragraph of the story, it mentioned how the Raven was in charge of divining whether people would live or die by throwing a stick and then the stone pestle I thought it would be an interesting and fun twist to the idea of the ‘stick and stone’ to write something that fit in with the saying "sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me." As I was typing this saying, trying to develop the story in my head, I thought about an old voodoo witch sitting at a table in a dark room throwing bones for divination, so that seemed to be the way this story ended up going. As I was writing the story, it took on a life of its own. Lucy wasn’t even a main character until I had gotten through about a quarter of the dialog. I then had to go back and work Lucy into the first couple of paragraphs to help tie everything together. The name of the main character is the name of a real Voodoo priestess.


Bibliography: Jicarilla Apache Texts edited by Pliny Earle Goddard (1911) New York: Anthropological Papers of the American Museum of Natural History, Vol. VIII.

Week 9, Storytelling: Together Forever

Pat was a very handsome man who seemed to have it all. He lived in Manhattan with his beautiful and loving wife in a condo right next to Central Park with a vacation house in the Hamptons. He worked on Wall Street and they had all the money, cars, and houses that they could ever wish for. Life was perfect, or so it seemed to everyone else. Pat, however, was miserable. He had been with his wife since high school. He did love her, and she had stuck it out with him through college and all of the late nights at the office as he worked his way up the ladder. He loved her, he really did, but his uncle had just married a woman named Ruby who was half his age and she was really hot. I mean hot, hot. She was young and beautiful and he wanted her. He always got what he wanted, even though he had never wanted another woman before, and he was going to get what he wanted this time too.

Pat decided he would ask Ruby out for lunch in the guise that he was just wanting to get to know her better. Although he did want to know her better, he wanted much more than that. They were in a dark quiet restaurant in a booth in the back corner and had been drinking wine and talking for over an hour past the end of their lunch. Pat figured this was the best time to make his move. Ruby responded just the way he wanted. They ended up renting a hotel room in Brooklyn and spent the rest of the day doing things that I can’t say in this story. When it was time for them both to go home, Ruby turned to Pat and told him that this was going to be a one-time thing and for him not to tell his uncle and she wouldn’t tell his wife. She also told him that if he didn’t keep his end of the bargain, she would tell them both what had happened. Pat agreed but knew that this was not the end of it. He wanted her more than ever now and he intended to have her.

A week later, Pat called Ruby to meet him for lunch again. She refused and reminded him of her warning. He said he remembered but that he just wanted to talk to her. She hesitantly decided to meet him and he immediately started trying to talk her into going back to a hotel with him. She refused and warned him again as she got up and stormed out of the restaurant. Pat sat there and turned over what had just happened in his mind. The more he thought about it, the more angry he got. He refused to let her say no. She was going to be his one way or the other.

One evening a week later, Ruby was coming back from the gym. She opened the door to their apartment and sat her stuff down on the floor. There was something off, but she couldn’t tell what just yet. She yelled her husband's name as she walked into the kitchen and after he didn’t answer her, she went looking for him. When she walked into their bedroom, she screamed. Lying there on the bed was her husband and Pat’s wife, both naked, and they both had their throats slit. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing and couldn’t stop screaming. After she “calmed” down, she called 911 and waited for them on the sidewalk in front of their building. She called Pat next and told him what had happened. He came over immediately and they tried to comfort each other the best they could. After the detectives questioned them and the coroner removed the bodies, she had to go get a hotel room since her apartment was now a crime scene. After she checked in, she took something to help her sleep. After drinking a bottle of wine, she finally was able to relax and drifted off to sleep. She was woken up by her cell phone ringing at 3:00am. It was Pat, she started talking to him about what had happened again and he cut her off.

“I did it for us,” he said.

Ruby didn’t quite understand at first. And so she started talking again about the accident.

“I DID it for US,” he said again, this time with more emotion in his voice.

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Did Pat kill them, or have them killed, so they could be together? She sat there with sheer panic on her face.

“Ruby, I did this for us. Now we can be together,” Pat said in a sweeter voice.

“I didn’t want this though,” Ruby replied. She was in tears now and was in the beginning stages of a panic attack. She had to hang up and call the police she thought before this got out of hand.

“Ruby, don’t you dare think about calling the police. I will kill you if you do. I will kill you no matter what you do unless you agree to be with me.”

Ruby was stunned. Pat was crazy, he was really certifiable. She couldn’t believe this was happening.

“I take it from your silence that you need a little time to make a decision, but I know what it will be. I know you want to live. We will have to wait an amount of time so it doesn’t seem out of place that we are living together, but you will be mine,” Pat said very calmly.

Pat hung up and Ruby sat there staring at the phone. She didn’t want to die. She sat there and thought about suicide and actually calling the police, but at last, she picked up her phone and texted one word to Pat. “OK”

An arial view of Central Park by Central Park Conservancy. Source: Wikimedia Commons.

Author’s Note: This story is based on Patussorssuaq, Who Killed His Uncle from the Eskimo Folk Tales Unit by Knud Rasmussen. This was one of the most coherent stories from this unit and I thought it would be the best one to try to re-write. This story is a simple one of jealousy and how doing something wrong can come back and bite you in the butt or as some put it Karma. I wanted to put a modern spin on the story, kind of like a Boil Your Bunny/Fatal Attraction feel but reversed but also not in the exact same way. In the original folk tale, Patussorssuaq got his comeuppance for coveting his uncle and his wife, he even ended up losing the stolen wife. We all know real life isn't always that cut and dried though and that sometimes bad people get away with bad things. I decided to change the ending to be a little more realistic into how this would really go down. Hopefully he will get what is coming to him in the afterlife. I intentionally left the ending open so that the reader would leave wondering what really happened to them in the end. I also decided to shorten his name to Pat since his real name is a mouthful.

Bibliography: Eskimo Folk Tales by Knud Rasmussen, 1921.

Week 7, Storytelling: Mama Bob White's Song

My story starts when mama, Missus Bob White, left me and my brothers under the care of Mr. Br'er Rabbit while she went and washed her dress. Poor mama just cried and cried to us every night, but we can't answer her anymore. You see, Br'er Rabbit, who was supposed to be watchin' us, decided that he was gonna take us home and give us to his ol' lady to cook up for supper. She had already put the grease in the pan and had the fire stoked and ready, but when she broke open my egg, she realized I wasn't an "egg" anymore--I was already a bob white, and was gettin' ready to hatch. Well, Missus Rabbit, being a mama herself, she didn't have the heart to kill me and my brothers. (Between you an' me, I think we just wasn't big enough to get a good bite of meat out of.) Anyway, after she figured she couldn't cook us, she decided to put us in the chicken pin with their other chickens until Mr. Rabbit got back. Me and my brothers didn't speak "chicken" so we didn't know what was going on or where our mama was. When Mr. Rabbit got back, Missus Rabbit told him what had happened with us and oooohh, he was as mad as a wet hen! He sure thought he was gonna get a good meal out of us eggs. Mr. Rabbit told the Missus that he couldn't take us back to our mama 'cause he done told her we had ran away and didn't know where we had run off to. 

After talking for awhile, Mr. and Missus Rabbit decided they was gonna let us go, but told us that we couldn't go back to our mama. They said we had to go in to the big city and live so that she wouldn't know what had happened to us. We was young, just hatched in fact, so we didn't know no better, so we did what we was told. Me and my brothers marched in to Atlanta all by ourselves and met a bunch of pigeons. They were a weird bunch, but they took us in and taught us how to get somethin' to eat and how to stay warm and how to just get by. We growed up with those pigeons as our family and every now and then one of us would think about mama and how lonely she probably was. After a couple of years, when we was old enough to start thinkin' for ourselves, we decided we was gonna go back to that forest and find our mama. It wasn't easy to find her, but we met up with Br'er Fox, who said he knew Br'er Rabbit and how nasty he could be, and he helped us find our mama. Mama still cries every night, but now it's with joy that we are finally home.

Bobwhite Egg. Source: Wikimedia Commons.

Author's Note: This story is based off of the story "Br'er Rabbit and the Partridge Nest" from the Br'er Rabbit II Unit. I had a really hard time finding something to write about this week, but I finally looked over the readings again and the end of this story started me thinking about if Miss Bob White's eggs had not actually been eaten, which is what is assumed in the story, at least by me. I decided to write this like I was telling the story to someone at home. Being from the south myself, sometimes I will lapse back into aint's and gone's with a lot of contractions and dropping the "g"s off of words, so I thought it would be fun to tell this in the style of talking my grandma does when she tells stories.

Bibliography: Story source: Uncle Remus and Br'er Rabbit by Joel Chandler Harris, with illustrations (1906).

Week 6, Storytelling: The Grave-Yard

One night a gentleman named Leander was walking home from a bar. Between the bar and his house stood a very old cemetery, with big above-ground tombs much like the ones in New Orleans, and it was over a block wide. He usually didn’t mind the extra walking he had to do to go around it, but tonight, he had had a little too much to drink. “I really need to find a bar that’s more convenient,” he thought as he came upon the cemetery. Even though the gates were closed after sundown, they were never locked. Leander wasn’t a suspicious guy but there was a saying that his grandmother used to always tell him -- “Ghosts don’t bother honest people, but it’s still safer to go around the graveyard.”

Cemetery Photo by: Alexandria. Source: Pixabay.

Leander was an honest man he thought. He was raised by a good family, he was smart, had graduated from college, and was an honest, hard worker. Again, he wasn’t a suspicious person, but he still avoided going through the cemetery...period. Against his better judgement, this night he decided to go through the cemetery anyway. About half-way through, he started feeling like someone was watching him. He quickened his steps as he looked over his shoulders. He couldn’t see anyone, but it didn’t stop the feeling that someone was watching him.

About three-quarters of the way through the cemetery, he started hearing footsteps. They were faint, but he could hear them in the echo against the tombs. Every now and then he would hear a shuffle, a stone being kicked, the crunch of a leaf. The faster he walked, the faster the footsteps became. He was making his last turn before coming to the gate that would lead to his house. As he rounded the corner he saw a shadow retreat between the mausoleums. He was now positive that someone was following him. He was scared, but he stopped anyway.

"Who's there?" he said out loud as he turned around looking in every direction.

When he received no answer, he asked again, but louder. He was getting ready to start walking again when the shadow that he saw retreat now emerged into the pathway. The figure was still in the shadows of the tombs, but he could make out the height. It was a short figure, he thought, maybe a woman.

What would a woman be doing in a cemetery by herself, at night? He had no idea, but he was anxious to find out.

"What is your name?" he called out as she began walking out of the shadows.

"Nancy," she said softly.

As he walked forward to meet her, he noticed that she had a glow about her that would appear if he looked at her for too long, but that would disappear when he blinked. Even though she was now in front of him, he still felt like someone was watching him. As they finally met, she told him that she was there to protect him and that he was an honest person, but that some things in his past could be manipulated by the ghosts so that they could achieve their goals. He decided he knew enough to know what their goals were and wanted to get the hell out of there fast. He and Nancy walked to the gate and she told him he would be safe as soon as he was out. Leander thanked her and turned around to walk out. He looked back to ask if she was coming, but when he turned around, she was no longer there.

A Slave Cabin in Barbour County Near Eufaula. Source: Library of Congress.

Author's Note: This story is based on the proverb "Ha'nts don't bodder longer hones' folks, but you better go 'roun' de grave-yard" from the Plantation Proverbs story that is in the Brer Rabbit I unit. To me that translates to: “Ghosts won’t bother honest people. You might think you are an honest person, but just in case, you might want to avoid the graveyard.” I am from Georgia and so writing this story was really fun. I thought since it was rooted in southern culture that I would make it really personal so I decided to name some of the characters after family members. The main character's name is the name of my 6th great-grandfather who was a slave that bought his freedom during the late 1700's in South Carolina. The name of the woman he meets in the cemetery was his wife's name. I thought this would be a great proverb to tell a story about since it had such a spooky flavor to it and included one of my most favorite parts of the south, the graveyard. Southern people are also very superstitious, so the whole proverbs section sounded very familiar to me. In the south, we have little sayings about every kind of situation.

Bibliography: Uncle Remus: His Songs and His Sayings by Joel Chandler Harris (1881).

Week 5, Storytelling: The Oxen Effect

Once upon a time mankind was very wasteful and ignorant of the consequences of their ways. The deities of the universe decided to send the Ox to man to deliver a message that if they did not change their wasteful ways, they would perish from their wants.

Along the way, the Ox was bothered by little bugs and flies that were dining on his hide. Soon a Crow came to eat the bugs that were bothering the Ox. The Crow decided to stay and help the Ox on his journey and started asking questions about where he was going and why. The Ox told him of the message he was sent to deliver to man. This weighed heavy on the Crow’s mind because he and all the other smaller animals and birds of the forest lived heartily off of the excess of man. The Crow begged the Ox to not deliver the message or to at least alter the message so he and the other creatures would not perish. The Ox told the Crow that he would consider his request, but the Ox decided that the gods knew what was best and didn’t want to suffer their wrath.

The Ox arrived to man and told them of the warning from the gods. Man immediately took the warning to heart and began only making what was necessary for them to eat and made sure that all of their food was ate so as not to waste anything. The Crow sat nearby on a tree limb and thought about the Ox and how he had condemned them to death by delivering his message. Slowly the birds and small animals of the world started dying out. Man started noticing that the birds did not sing any more and the little creatures did not come around them like they used to. Man sent their strongest warrior into the woods to find out what was wrong with the animals. The warrior found the Crow sitting at the bottom of a tree, barely alive. He sat down and talked to the Crow and found out what the Ox had done.

American Crow. Source: Wikimedia Commons.

The warrior went back to man and told them what he had learned from the Crow and they decided that they would find the Ox and make him pay for what he made them do. It didn’t take much looking to find the Ox since he was grazing on a field nearby. Man caught the Ox and brought him back to their villages and made him work for penance for what he had done.

Authors Note: This story is about how the Ox was sent to mankind to warn them about their wasteful ways. On the way a Crow convinced the Ox not to warn man because he and the other birds and wildlife fed off of man’s spoils. In the story, the Ox doesn’t tell the humans what he is sent to tell them, but I thought it would be an interesting butterfly effect for the other animals of Earth if he had ignored the Crow and told mankind anyway.

Bibliography: Folk Tales of the Kasis, KU Rafy, 1920. Web Source: Mythology and Folklore UnTextbook