A story composed in response to our trip to the Museum of Anthropology, Vancouver
http://www.moa.ubc.ca/about/

——-

It is morning and at last I am all alone. The hot sun gently warms my body and with the sand soft against my 
back I feel as though I’m floating adrift in a sea if liquid amber. It 
flows in and around me the raw power of the heat lapping at my eye 
lids, “wake up, wake up” it says. I answer her call and for a moment I am blind, the light is too much 
for the hours of solitary confinement my eyes have endured.

Then the silence is broken. A single shot, a hammer which breaks the 
glass box of silence I’m in, and now that the silence is broken it is 
as though the flood gate of my mind has been lifted.

 I remember.

 The shouts, the screams, the soft crunch as bones are shattered and 
broken into a million tiny fragments.

 A room of infinite light bulbs to which someone has just found the off 
switch.



I pick myself up and set off at a steady run. My feet throwing the 
soft sand high into the air. Today I am the hunted, I am the one 
hiding in the dark corners and I am the one in fear. 

I was once the king of this place, everything changed when THEY came, 
with their technology and ‘intelligence’. On a quest of destruction 
they wished for nothing other than to control, to take, to consume.

 But they were blind and they could not see, see the path of destruction on 
which they had set themselves. One day the tables would truly be 
turned. They would be the hunted, running and hiding, running and 
hiding until they can go no longer. Then once more I will be alone, 
swimming in a pool of silence. Nothing but my soul for company.