Tim Moots Narrative Essay

1/29/12

Puffy cotton balls of clouds rolled swiftly over Maui s golden shores. Rays of sunlight stabbed through the gray blanket here and there, signaling a end to the long dreary weather that had spread across the Hawaiian island. Below on the beautiful beach, a future hotbed of tourism, a small, dark native sat quietly in the sand, dangling his feet in the water as the tide washed over them. He stared into the sky. His eyes shone with tears and he held the face of one lost in desolate oblivion. Despite the occasional sparkle of sunlight through the netting of clouds, the general grey hue served only to worsen his mood and dishearten him further. The native lowered his head sorrowfully, let his gaze linger on the fall and rise of the waves, and felt tears slowly pour off his cheeks mixing quietly with the sand beneath him. After a while he rose, goaded by the chill of the ocean breeze, and mournfully left his place by the ocean headed towards trees rising in the distance. His footprints in the sand measured close to six inches, his height less than four and a half feet. And that torn, tearful face bore the expression of a child first discovering the agony of deep pain. As he quietly trudged towards the forest disappearing through the tall sea oats, a light rain began to fall on the shore, a silent mourning for the young boy s loss.

Kaholo quietly slid down the base of a sand dune into the underbrush below, crouching cautiously as he entered the tropical forest. Look left - no danger. Look right - no danger. Now still. Still as statue he maintained his bent posture for minutes: peering, listening, waiting. Silently rising and scanning the vibrant green around him for movement, he crept along the trunk of a fallen log up into the branches of a low-lying tree. From his position, the Maui boy held an excellent vantage point for

possible threats. The dense cloves of trees, strewn with massive leaves jetting from powerful branches, allowed Kaholo to move easily between them even at a great height.

Though young, his years of climbing and playing with the children of his village had drawn out of him exceptional skill in stealth and speed. The elders had hated him for it. His spunk and mischief would have cost him dearly many times had not his speed and quick thinking availed him. Villagers all recognized Kaholo as a young rascal, a charming little devil too sweet for a grudge but too wild to be unsupervised. By age nine, he had become particularly adept at trailing the village warriors on their warparties and pulling childish pranks on them in the dead of night. Despite the embarrassment and chagrin of his parents and all the head-shaking of the elders, he shadowed the soldiers enough that they grew fond of the adventurer and began to use him for various tasks, teaching him along the way. Though the troublemaker always scampered off before any skirmishes took place, he still thought himself a mighty soldier who could would battle with anyone. Kaholo was clever. Well-liked by the other children and admired for his daring deeds - or so he told himself. Despite his constant trouble Kaholo s parents loved him dearly. They always ended up laughing at his outrageous shenanigans in the privacy of their room, certain they had chosen his name Kaholo, runner, well. His younger sister, a innocent little princess, made him laugh and smile all the time, while he resolved to corrupt her angelic little manner. And his grandmother

Kaholo awoke sobbing, nestled high in the rainforest canopy. Tears plunged down his face as he buried his head in his knees, curled in a tight ball. A breeze from the ocean blew through leaves and across the boy s back, tussling his hair as it drew the nighttime noises from the forest floor up into the treetops. He shook violently in his grief and his soft cries joined the nocturnal chorus ringing below. Eventually, overpowered by exhaustion, he drifted off into troubled sleep.

Arrows ripped through the forest as a terrible cry roared up from behind them. Chaos erupted in a clamor that shook the jungle. The trees came life as warriors poured over the foliage: racing, shouting, shooting in endless waves. Arrow and knives ripped through the leaves, thudded into branches. The tumult rose across the forest. Hundreds of men charging furiously to towards the blur of movement in the leaves ahead. Shouts echoed through the trees, Kill the boy! He cannot escape! Bring him down! . And Kaholo ran. He ran with all the speed he had. In and out of bushes, leaping over logs, sliding under branches. He coursed through the expanse, weaving and bobbing through the obstacles perfectly with every step. No time to look. Move, move, move! Every decision meant life or death as the swarm of hunters steadily gained on him. In the corner of his right eye the shapes of his pursuers began to appear and he suddenly realized their plan. Get over there. They ll shoot each other. They want to corner me. They want the village. The Village!

His short bursts of thought turned into panic. Kaholo immediately cut right. He raced toward a fallen tree tilted against a short trunk. Leaping over a fern he bolted up its mossy bark and sprang onto an outstretched branch of the second tree. He flew through the leaves chased by arrows and dove through the open air completely exposed. Gasping a branch in a nearby tree, he swung himself up and scampered across to the branches further. Twenty feet up and sprinting completely perpendicular to the oncoming army, he drew closer to the edge of their line. Almost there, almost there. He could not let them corner him. Kaholo sailed through the air again barely snagging an outlying branch without losing his momentum. A knife ripped through a cluster of leaves and grazed his skin as he righted himself. He screamed in agony but dashed down the branch and leapt just as a slew of projectiles flew through his previous spot. He fell onto a bushy plant below and bounced off, eternally grateful for its location. He was almost to the end. Though by this time the men he d evaded had adjusted their chase. The last few warriors on the edge of hunting line jumped after him, weapons raised and shouting. The boy bolted the

other way, recalculating as he dodged bushes and spears. His time running from punishment had served him well. Gotta get to the cliff. Gotta drop the bridge. His mind raced against his legs.

This part of the forest sat atop a large canyon above the Honokohau river which ran below. In that area the stream narrowed tremendously so that people could travel across a long, sturdy bridge. Because the gaping canyon offered defenses which could be breached by the bridge, a sentinel always kept watched in case an attack required that he drop the bridge. Two levers on the village side of the canyon would loosen some ropes in crucial places causing the bridge to fall with any weight. Kaholo aimed for that bridge. Some soldiers had let him play sentinel that day as little test to prove his mettle, but he got distracted like any nine-year old and found himself deep in the jungle when the war-party spotted him. He never saw them coming.

Two men closed in on his tail just as he broke through the trees in full view of the bridge. Kaholo called on all his reserves and rushed harder toward the overpass. He could feel the thud of his pursuers strides, hear them grunting in frustration desperate to stop him. He swung his arms faster and extended his stride. Once he got to the bridge they would slow up in caution and he had a chance of raising those levers before he got shot. Eighty feet. Fifty feet. One of the warriors halted and raised his war club. Sighting his target he drew back the weapon. Thirty feet. Twenty feet. A blunt object flashed through the air. Bone cracked and the world erupted into searing pain. Then all went black.

Kaholo sat up from his perch in the canopy and rubbed his eyes, adjusting to the vibrant hues of sunrise. He gazed eastward and a fresh tear tumbled down his cheek. In stark contrast to the splashes of orange and red skyline, black smoke still billowed from smoldering ruins far off. Yet Kaholo stood up. He turned east and stared directly at the canyon and the bridge still spanning its sides. As the stunning Hawaiian sun rose majestically on the horizon, a silhouette smoky unfurling at its heart, Kaholo closed his eyes and bore the emotion of every man, woman, and child in his village. Radiant with sunlight in the

most powerful moment of his life, he vowed to bring his people the greatest honor, glory, and lore any tribe had ever known. To avenge their deaths with blood and their memories with immortality. Tears burning down his face, bathed in ethereal light, Kaholo emerged from childhood and stepped forward as a man.