Photo post

The picture reflects our feelings. Our fear runs deep and our fear will never disappear. The picture was after the death of my brother. He was 23 and the guy was my role model. We fought, we didn’t always get along, but hey. We were brothers, and that’s what actually mattered. It was October of 1909 and we had just made a homestead as a family. It was raw untouched wilderness, meaning we weren’t the only ones to inhabit the land. There were many predators on the land, bears, cougars, bobcat, lynx, and we were all aware of where they lived, and hunted. But within a matter of months, they started to move closer and closer to our home, bringing a large uneasiness upon the family. Brian, my brother, was the only one who didn’t live in the house with us. He was 20 when we moved there so we figured he’d be fine off on his own. He lived about a mile from the main house in a little teepee until he was able to finish his own cabin. The teepee was actually pretty impressive, he made it from some trees he cut down and a big buffalo hide. He killed a huge buffalo the week we moved to the new land and split the meat between him and the rest of us. Which he really didn’t have to do. But with his house nearing completion he spent his last night in the teepee. And by last, it was both his last night before he would finish the teepee, and his last night on earth for that was the night the bear took his life. The next morning I was first awake and went to check if he needed help. So yes, I was the one to find my brother, mauled beyond recognition with the bear still on top of him. I rushed home in terror, sobbing and angry. I reached the house when I realized the bear could not live, having killed my best friend. I grabbed my rifle and returned to my brother’s side. I took aim at the bear as he walked off. Tears in my eyes, I fired. I shot more times than I thought. And more than necessary.  For when I came to my senses, the first shot killed the bear, but I fired every shot from my gun. I then crawled to my brother, told him I was sorry I was no help, I then curled in a ball and sobbed until my father found me in a puddle of tears.