The Mural
The mural’s colors were garish and rich—deep bronze Indians circling the bright white canopies of a wagon train. Behind, the green trees seemed fluorescent against the shade of a deep wood.
Covered in gray dust and aching from the day, Joe stopped to consider this reconstruction of his people’s history. The romanticism. The racism.
A proud, untrammeled tribe seemed to wake in his heart.
But it was an odd stirring, and as Joe looked ahead, up the boardwalk to the squat row of beige townhouses with their faded lawns and collected refuse, he suddenly bent to unlace his boots.
When he stepped through—onto the cool grass, into the caravan—they were all that he left behind.
This is my response to this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt. The photo this week comes to us via long-time fictioneer Adam Ickes.
Let me know what you think in the comments below!
pinionpost 
This is so poignant!
Hi Brian,
Joe is lucky he’s not living in an old trailer on some worthless reservation land. He apparently has managed to assimilate into our culture, unlike so many indigenous people. Some rich descriptive writing here, and I’m guessing Joe is now part of that mural. Am I getting the picture? Ron
This is similar to the concept which floated through my mind when I saw the prompt – before I veered off and created something slightly different! So reading this almost feels like deja vu to me. 😀
I really enjoyed the “A proud, untrammeled tribe” line in particular. Nicely done.
Dear Brian,
Sort of an Alice through the looking glass kind of story. I like it. Well written and really leaves me craving more. Good job.
Shalom,
Rochelle
Brian, I always admire your way of getting the language together.. this piece, as Rochelle says has that fantastic part like an Alice going through the looking glass.
Lovely story with a half-hidden meaning.
Great one, very poignant indeed!