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You were born in 1923 to Texas farmers.
You lived through the Great Depression, and eventually managed to get yourself into WWII as a nurse with your mother when you were 17 years old.
However, as the war progressed, there...
It seems the farther we get from civilization, the more of its rules we leave behind. Its traditions. Its inhibitions.
The father west we travel, the more those rules and customs become a burden.
"Dad?" I asked as my father stood on the porch looking out at the dark Plains before him.
It was around midnight and the moon was at its highest in the sky.
"Y/n," he said as I walked over and stood next to him.
"Whatcha doin?" I asked as he leaned against the porch. When I seen how he was standing I tried to copy how he was positioned.
"Thinking."
"Bout what?"
"Well... lots of things," he said tiredly. "The rain, the depression, the town meeting."
He sounded like he had been up for hours, but that wasn't anything out of the ordinary.
Usually after town meetings he would stay up for a while and think about the things that the people wanted to change, and the new struggles everyone was facing.
I stuck my head in between the bars of the wood porch and looked at the silver and black field of grass.
It was the middle of summer and the grass was all dead already, and the cattle had grazed it down to the dirt.
Sand blew around and if you weren't careful, it would blow into your eyes.
"One of the Indian medicine men came into the town meeting today."
"What?" I asked with wide eyes.
They almost never came into the town meetings, and usually just stayed on the edge of town and on the reservations.
"Everyone was just as surprised as you were when he walked in," he chuckled. "He walked in and he stopped in the middle of the church before asking permission to speak..."
"And Father Thomas let him?"
Father nodded and looked back out at the field.
"Yep, he did, and then the medicine man roared in anger as he started shouting out some Indian prophecy. He said 'when the Earth is ravaged and the animals are dying, a new tribe of people shall come unto the Earth from many colors, classes, creeds, and who by their actions and deeds shall make the Earth green again," father explained as I listened closely.
"What else did he say?"
"...He said 'they would be know as the Warriors of the Rainbow, and they shall rise and bless this sick world. A world filled with broken promises, selfishness, and separations... A world longing for light again, and the young white ones will come to the Warriors asking for wisdom."
"Will that ever happen?...Will they actually save the world?" I asked with a worried tone.
"Munchkin, let me tell you something," he said before scooping me up in his arms and walking over to the porch swing.
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