1 Thessalonians 5:2
Charles Floyd began dying the night of the buffalo. Seaman was hailed a hero, and the whole Corps of Discovery was giddy over the near miss: how the Newfoundland kept the buffalo from trampling the officers’ tent. No one was hurt, not even Charles. Still, death had settled upon him like the dreaded foxtail seeds.
Charles’ talisman, his journal, went missing that night.
At the last encampment, Charles noted an Ottowa youth slavering over it. The brute had offered to trade, and Charles waved him off derisively. Ever since, Charles felt watched. His skin crawled each time he opened his journal and brought out the gilded page. He couldn’t take the whole volume, and by now Mother knew he’d ripped Psalm 23 out of the family tome.
And now it was ripped from him.
Sometime later, Charles’ stomach turned against him. A fire inside his body set all his fluids to defecting. Eventually, Charles collapsed. From the bluff he had a panoramic view of the valley they’d just traversed. A fitting last sight.
Charles tore his gaze away, and with longing for the land he’d not be meeting– said to Clark, “I am going away. I want you to write me a letter.”
For you yourselves know full well that the day of the Lord will come just like a thief in the night. – 1 Thessalonians 5:2
This flash fiction is in response to Microcosms 90: historical/thief/mountains. The historical genre gave me the most pleasure. And pain. Truth is so inflexible, and so is a 200 word limit (But I got confused, because I actually had 300 with which to work. Argh! My flash fiction contests all run together). The buffalo night, foxtail seeds, and the last words of Charles Floyd (who died of appendicitis) are truth– from the story of Lewis & Clark. And I got an honorable mention for my tale. 🙂