Ma-ma-kwa-se-sak

I gave up on life along time ago, not sure if it was my choice or just the way it worked out. But tonight, I was offered a second chance. Maybe it was my third or fourth, which ever it was, this is the one that woke me from my despair. It was a cry, so vulnerable, so helpless.

Walking alone, along the bank of the Saskatchewan river, the chilling rain beat down upon me until I was soaked under my skin. I didn't care, there was little I cared about except deciding how I was going to end my life. Jumping into a freezing roaring river was my latest thought, one that I believe I could live with.... no pun intended. Watching the waves roll wildly in the dark, white caps glowing under the light of a partial moon. Reflections of the darken sky mirrored in the rapidly moving waters had a hypnotizing affect on me. I found my self drawn to the movement and beauty of nature in chaos.

Suddenly a scream breaks over the noise of raging water, a sharp painful wail. Instinctually, I move towards the cry, cutting through bush that lines the river. Fighting the underbrush and slick mud, guided by the continuous screams.

I knew this cry only too well, a helpless plea of one unable to fend for themselves, my child, my son. When the plague took him from us, we wept uncontrollably for days. When it took my wife two weeks later, I too was dead. Living, but dead inside.

The world was fucked, covid taught us nothing. When a threat of a new virus came everyone refused to listen, no one wanted to relive that isolated time. We were fools, in weeks the earths population plummeted. Half a billion people in China gone, India unknown, but it had to be close to the same. America lost double the population of my country, Canada, with over eighty million dead. We faired better, loosing less than a quarter of our people. However, cities like Montreal, Toronto, and Vancouver were devastated.

Now I huddle in this cold October rain, straining to find the source of that scream. Through the foliage I see a light, flames dancing against all odds in the downpour. A flame so high it outlines a group of hooded people gathering around an alter of solid rock, upon which lays an infant. Naked and shivering, crying for help.

Creeping closer, hearing voices chanting in a strange language. I am torn about how to proceed, knowing leaving is not an option. Before I can think of what to do, I feel a dull pressure on my head, and all goes dark.

When my eyes blink open, my head throbs with a pain I have never experienced before, my vision is blurry, and I am totally disoriented, naked, tied to a pole. Then it all comes back to me as I watch one of the hooded people approach. I don't even get the chance to speak when he strikes me with his fist, repeatedly until my world spins out of control. A metallic taste lingers in my mouth, while the rain washes the blood from my cuts, painting the muddy soil red beneath my feet.

I watch from a distance as the cult begins their ritual again. This time I notice a strange sight that I missed before, a group of children tied together around the base of the alter. Without a sound they stare at me. My anger rises, it is only too clear what these bastards are doing.

Sacrifices are about to be performed.

Before he strikes me again, I scream. "What are you doing to these children?"

I cannot see his face, but his posture tells me much. In a nasally voice he speaks. "I think it is clear; we are saving the world."

Stunned, I ask. "How is killing an innocent baby going to save the world?"

"It is written, this must be done. Surely you see what the world has become because we fail to honor the old ways, destruction and death are now our life."

"And the children, what of them?"

"They were not part of the plan; they were already here gathered around our alter when we arrived. They, like you will be dealt with after."

"Why? The baby has done no harm, he is innocent. Do you not see the harm and pain you are causing the parents?"

"The child is female, and her parents didn’t share our vision, there was no longer a need for them. This baby was born June 6th, at six a.m. The Devil himself marks her. When her life is given as an offering, this cursed disease will leave our world."

"You're all mad." I cried. "Let me leave with the children and infant, I won't say anything." I was lying of course, and he knew it.

Suddenly a soft voice breaks the tension. "Would you really take us and the baby with you?" One of the children asks.

I cannot say why, but suddenly my soul felt free, the anger and hate and loneliness vanished. Truthfully, I answer. "Yes."

Turning to the leader the child asks. "And you, would you let us go free?"

In answer, he rejoins his cult circling the alter, the chanting begins once more. The knife in his hand raises high, hovering over the screaming infant. The chanting becomes louder. Again, I scream for them to stop and watch in horror as the blade plunges downward to the heart of the innocent one. Everything slows down, I see the world so clear, every drop of rain, every leaf that flutters in the wind, every heartbeat in my chest is amplified.

As the tip touches the babies flesh the knife stops. A tiny trickle of blood seeps slowly down the naked chest, in that instant the crying goes silent, the rain stops, and the wind goes still.

The group goes quiet.

I can tell they are confused, watching their leader struggle to finish the sacrifice. Suddenly the knife swings wide, slitting the throat of the person next to him. The cult freaks out, while the children sing as one, their voices rising to a crescendo. The light from the moon glows brighter, the wind begins to swirl around the lunatics with hoods. One by one their bodies are flung into the fire, where they burst instantly into ash.

Shutting my eyes from the blinding light, screams of terror fill the night. It is over as quickly as it started. When I find the strength to open my eyes, standing before me are the children, holding the baby. I was freed from my bonds and given the child to hold. Gazing into their eyes, the ones I thought children are not. Though tiny, their features were that of an adults.

"This baby is yours to guard, her life is in your hands. She is indeed special, the soul of destiny wraps around this infant. Even though you may not see us, we shall visit her. Raise her well, you two will need each other."

They faded away into the forest and I walk away with my new chance in life, wrapped in an old shirt.

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Note:

The folklore of the Metis contains a varied mix of monsters, trickster spirits, “little” people, and other fantastic beings—all of which are a syncretistic mix of many first nations from the Cree to the Algonquian peoples. The “Little People” or Ma-ma-kwa-se-sak (Meme-guay-iwahk), are human beings, only very tiny.

It is the belief among many Aboriginal cultures that the “Little People” live along riverbanks, the sand hills by large lakes and in caves. The “Little People” are there to protect you; if you see one your luck will change. If you feel sad or sick, you will feel better.

I chose to write these 'little peoples' as protectors of children. In legend they are portrayed as being tiny fairy like in size. I also have them looking like young children for the story.

Thank you,

Jason