As
Snowflakes Gently Fall
By Royce A Ratterman
©
Chief
Winnemucca could have rescued us easily from destiny’s snowy precipice. He
refused, however, because of who we were, because of who we had become . . .
The
occurrences up on that bleak mountain summit elucidated the primitive
animalistic instincts found within the deepest resources of the human immoral
subconscious being. The heinous acts perpetrated by fellow emigrant party
members that cold blistering winter echoed a somber decree to the levels of
degradation mankind’s dignity and human integrity can cascade during the direst
of circumstances. Those actions transcended the parameters of moral reprobation
which even our most ancient of ancestors considered the vilest of taboos; the
consumption of . . . yes . . . forbidden flesh.
We
commenced our peril-destined journey during the spring of 1846, April, as I
recall. Some two dozen of us departed from our farmland community in
Springfield, Illinois to search for a new and better life in the bountiful
frontier of the West; the territory that stretches beyond Sutter’s Fort to the
coastal blue waters of the Pacific.
As
we traveled, many families joined us, those who also shared the hopes and
dreams of attaining a prosperous and exciting new life. Our party soon
consisted of some eighty-plus individuals, maybe more, almost forty of
which were children, almost half of those being under the age of six.
A
schism developed, however, a faction of sorts. Many chose not to follow the
direction and guidance of our party’s leader. We chose to traverse an alternate
route, a route which, though shorter, proved to be the commencement of our
spiral downward into the darkened depths of the human soul.
By
the time we reached the mountain pass it was somewhere between late October and
early November. A hard and violent storm deposited an abundance of snow on our
frail camp. A snowpack far beyond those of the harsh Illinois winters we were
accustomed to.
The
wintry temperatures were especially hard on the children. Though stricken with
colds and pneumonia, they remained confident in their adult companions. A
confidence and trust that later would prove to be a fatal allegiance. As the
temperature continued to plummet, we used all available and remaining resources
to maintain our meaningless existences. Soon our supplies dwindled away as our
morale deteriorated proportionately.
What
transpired over the ensuing months I cannot say, for it balances on the fine
border located between logic and insanity, suicide and murder, reality and
nightmare. Did anything happen, or was it nothing but a horrible dream? Can
anyone, would anyone, choose to remember those phenomenal occurrences from our
sordid past? Can we deny we lived and breathed those dark moments in our lives?
Will we deny them?
Almost fifty
of us survived to live on, to live the rest of our lives with the memories of
that dreaded winter. A dozen or more continued on to Sutter’s Fort, the rest .
. . who knows? Maybe they escaped the temporal punishment mankind inflicts to
carry their own mode of torture upon the shoulders of their minds. Perhaps we
will never know. Perhaps we will never care.
I
did what I needed to do to survive, to bear the bone-chilling cold of that icy
grave-like winter. Could I do any less? Must I have done any less? Would the
taking of my own life been a better choice? I cannot and will not say. I stand
here before you, humanity, pleading to the depths of your merciful souls, to
let us live our lives within the suffering with which we must convey ourselves
alone… to free us to a miserable existence and to excuse us into our realms of
painful thought and pensivity.
To
live with this life is punishment enough. To tread the forever darkened
pathways of our existence is more than many of us will be able to bear. I can
say no more!
________________________________________________
Monologue originally written for an audition
20+ years ago - but never used.
No comments:
Post a Comment