Young cowboy Seth Shadow removed his hat in the dark room reeking of sweat, piss, whisky and despair and said, “I’d like to thank you for the ride, ‘cause, ya know, not many whores would like to lay with an Indian, even one been to school like me, Miss…Miss…”
“They call me Desert Flower, handsome, and ever’body’s pretty much the same color to me – gold, silver and green,” said the young Fort Sill prostitute, who shook off her chemise, unleashed an avalanche of obsidian hair down her back and lay back on her filthy pallet.
“You look kinda familiar, sweet boy, like I seen you ’fore maybe up in Anadarko or here in Sill?” she said.
“I’m told that on the way to put my family up in Anadarko, some Reverend took me off to teach me to be white at the Wichita School, but I wouldn’t give up my name, Khaup-kone-gyah, Shadow, and they whipped me so I run off and became a cowboy up in Colorado,” he said.
At that, the young whore started crying, “Jáu, jáu, I’m Gutqo-akigaut, big brother,” and covered herself, including the scars on her back, with a ripped and mended old red blanket she kept folded beneath her head.
My super-quick draft of five sentence fiction based on Lillie McFerrin’s prompt word SECURE and Sarah Salecky’s prompt of writing about someone named Desert Flower. It’s hard to get as much depth and feeling of the dissolution of culture and family that was part of the story of the American West. Here’s a first-draft place-holder attempt.