Nauvoo: A Short Story

The journey began, the first state we rode through was Alabama, I couldn’t see much since it was night time. All I could see was the clear night sky. No stars were shining that night. The only lights I could see were street lights, building lights, and other cars. Looking around inside the car, everyone was asleep except for my uncle since he was the one driving. I must have been asleep the whole 4 hours and 46-minute car ride through Mississippi because I don’t remember anything, same with Louisiana. Finally, when we got to Texas all I wanted to do was get out of the car, so luckily, we stopped by to eat at Cici’s. My aunt said, “To enjoy this last meal since it was the last fast food, that we would be having for a while.” After we ate, it took us about 5-hours to get to Matamoros, Mexico. That was where we had to drive through the border to get into Mexico. Once we got into Mexico, there were lines of cars everywhere from people trying to enter and leave at the same time. The lines were slowly moving, like a turtle, inch by inch. There

It had looked so far away it was hard to believe I would be on top of it in a few days. Besides in the campsites, we only saw one other group of people during the entire 12 day trek and the only human sounds were our own. Each camp was an island of civilization in a great sea of wilderness, and a wonderful solace to end the day’s hike.

A journey of hundreds of miles lies before you, through swamp, forest and mountain pass. Your supplies are meager, only what can be comfortably carried so as not to slow your progress to the Promised Land – Canada. The stars and coded messages for guidance, you set out through the night, the path illuminated by the intermittent flash of lightning. Without a map and no real knowledge of the surrounding area, your mind races before you and behind you all at once. Was that the barking of the slavecatchers’ dogs behind you or just the pounding rain and thunder? Does each step bring you closer to freedom or failure?

We gather here today for the loss of Joseph Smith our beloved prophet with our new prophet Brigham Young I will now turn the time to him. We are very sad the circumstance Brother Smith was put in and we know he is in a better place after such a horrific murder. But we need to leave after all the sadness the government has given us we surely can’t stay. The lord has revealed unto me a place we need to go and get away from the mobs. So he got ready and prepared. He got covered wagons he got horses he got a lot of supplies but sadly some others weren’t as ready as him.

A rustling sound stirs Nero from his sleep and he awakens, eyes darting over to the source of the noise. The bedsheets were sheets twisted in an array with one pillow hanging precariously from the edge. Avilio was nowhere to be seen.

Han glares at his best friend from across the table, hazel eyes keen and biting to convey his rather crude sense of sobriety in regard to the subject at hand. This is supposed to be taken seriously, and Lando is far from serious. (Naturally, Han hadn't helped, but Lando is goofing more than usual today). Han wants nothing more than to smack his best friend’s shoulder, seize that stupid, delicious smelling latte from him, and get Lando to take the bull by the horns already because Han’s life savings is sort of at stake at the moment. Has been since spring of last year. If this continues on, Han will surely be bankrupt by the end of this fall. It’s very early January now. Outside is cold and crisp. Winter has since made its mark over the city

Today Hinekohu was your first day back after the holidays and an extra week away up north. You arrived with the biggest smile on your face and proudly show us your new warm coat.

Naervon was born in Ithania at the beginning of the fifth year to an unknown female and Faldin, one of the princes of the Ishkor family. Smuggled out of the family by his mother to be protected from the war his family started, in secrecy he was taught about his family. When he turned two his mother died and it set in him a fire that would burn with hatred, hate for every other wolf who came across him. His pride for his family name would spur this prince into one day becoming a King feared and hated. He would trust no one, unless they earned it but even then he would refuse to trust them completely. NOW: Working for his way once more to bring his family name to the way it was before, Naervon will wade through blood and bone to gain the honor

had to act as if everything was okay now. I felt so much guilt lying to his face. On our way out we grabbed a sharpie and wrote something.

I found myself five miles outside of Zion National Park in Utah early last summer. Pure energy coursed through my veins at 5:30am to hit the trail as I shook my dad awake. I fantasized of sitting on the top of the landing and looking down at the valley distant and peaceful below. The knife’s edge ridge stands nearly 1,500 feet above the valley, only accessible via miles of trail and dozens of switchbacks. Sandstone rock crawls up both sides and suddenly creates a narrow top, to which only the bravest travellers to this Mormon “place of peace” may tread.

We made it to Independance, what a journey that was! I was expecting to be relieved when we got off the ferry, but we came into complete chaos. So money people were running around yelling, animals were making so much noise, and you couldn't walk two steps without being pushed around. Joseph led the way to a store he heard about from one of our friends back home, it was called Jorgensen’s General Store. The prices were great, which was just what we needed, because after seeing everything in the store, we realized we forgot so much! We bought a Dutch oven to make cooking easier, we supplied up on axle grease, twenty gallon barrels of water, twine and some other materials, and three gallons of coal oil. The only animals we had were our two old

I should not be writing this. If one were to read this it would be the final evidence as to our crime. His crimes. This blood on my hands won't wash off and I fear that his are staining my own. Were we right to do as we did? Was it simply fate playing its part? I cannot bear to stand before them, they see...they know. Did we do right? Banquo. Oh, Banquo. You have suffered at the hands of a friend. For my own gain! He was a good man, was he not? A respected, trusted friend. Oh, yet I did result in his departure. My hands! Do you see my hands? I wash them and yet they cannot be washed. We were of well standing, friends to the King nonetheless. And he was to...I cannot bear the thought. In our house! The decay of his mind

Just north of Chillicothe, Ohio, the land changes from flat, black-soil farmland to rolling, coal-filled hills. The place becomes increasingly familiar to me—the green sign for Jesus In the Hills Camp, the brown sign for Leo Petroglyph, friends and relative 's homes—and as I navigate the slopes and curves that lead me back to my childhood home in Jackson, a pleasant nostalgia begins to take some of the tension out of the muscles around my neck and shoulders. After a decade of twisting and contorting myself into an unsuitable life in Christian ministry, I began to write and my attention turned back to my home, to that familiar landscape. I found the beauty in the cultural distinctiveness once taken for granted, even held in contempt. I had been fed, clothed and educated by money made from mining coal, and I am the product of a family that valued work and the love of the written word as a conduit for understanding and contextualizing our place in the world. And so, this is what I write about, the place and the people I know.

The Bishop came to visit us during the last year of Seminary training with the Question “Who will go for us?” He was referring to a small community north of the 53 parallel in Manitoba. The time was back in 1972 when roads were just being built up from rough logging roads through the muskeg. This was going to be our first parish experience. I was excited about responding to this appointment, but Shirley had strong reservations which she kept to herself. It would be years later that I would discover she knew all kinds of wild stories about our community of destination which had a reputation cognisant of stories out of the wild west. It even came complete with a Silver Dollar Saloon! No wonder she paled as we drove north on a single lane, rutted, slimy road and came upon a huge sign painted on the rocks which said “Go home you fools!”

Naruto figured wandering far away from the path would result in death, so he didn't steer far. The path eventually let up into a crossway section filled with luscious evergreen trees. There was a crimson red chest and a sign standing idly to the trees, he walked over to it.