Countryhumans Oneshots

The Discovery of a Kindred Spirit

Skullyville, Oklahoma
March 23, 1847

Logically, Choctaw knew he was not alone in his suffering. There were thousands of other indigenous peoples in this land, from his family to his enemies, all of whom had been experiencing the disease, discrimination, and violence brought over by the new personifications from across the sea.

Choctaw thought they were all the same kind of people, people who took what was not theirs. They could never have enough because they were still young and feared death. They were people who saw anything that wasn't them as different and wrong.

They made far too many assumptions. It would probably get them killed.

It was not that Choctaw was claiming to be a perfect man. He knew he had done great wrongs before, and he wasn't free from making assumptions either.

After all, he presumed all Europeans were like France and England.

He didn't realize that one of them had been going through the same struggles he had.

Ireland was not an unfamiliar name to him. He had heard of him before, someone who was part of England's empire. Someone who he presumed supported what England was doing, that he was a loyal and willing member of a plague on the world. After all, he had seen many people who claimed Irish blood hurt him and his people, including the bastard who forced him off his land, Andrew Jackson.

But what he was hearing now painted a different story. A story that reflected his own.

A story of an indigenous personification who was colonized by an English-speaking white Christian who couldn't care less about what you went through, who just wanted you gone and replaced with more of his people. A person who thought your very existence was a crime and saw the deaths of your people as a good thing.

A person who wanted your culture gone and for you to fade away as your people become theirs. A person who, even if they didn't say it, even if they denied it, was wishing for your death.

Ireland's story wasn't like England's. It was like his own.

"We are providing aid," Choctaw said as he approached William Armstrong, the man collecting the donations to help relieve Ireland's suffering. A kind of suffering that Choctaw most certainly could say was worse than anyone thought. After all, no one ever seemed to think the pain he went through on that Trail of Death was as bad as he said. Although no white people ever seemed to believe what he said.

"I know we don't have a lot...but—"

William cut Choctaw off, smiling, "I'm glad that the Christian faith remains strong in you Indians."

"I'm not doing this because some of my people follow your faith. I'm doing this because it is the right thing to do, and aid is something that I wished I had when I was forced onto this territory when your president made me leave my home despite the treaties I had with America and your court telling your president not to." Choctaw responded, his voice even as he made eye contact with William, who looked less happy.

He probably wanted Choctaw to claim that it was Christianity and the lessons from it that made him want to help, as no one ever seemed to think that he had kindness before the people who invaded his land and killed his people taught him and his people about their religion. They never seem to understand that it had always been a part of his culture to be generous. Even if his people were warriors, they were also kind and generous souls.

You didn't have to be Christian to be that.

"I don't think we need to discuss prior issues right now. You did say you were going to help, right? Why don't I collect your people's donations so we can both be on our way and not start silly arguments?" William said, almost talking down to him like Choctaw wasn't centuries old.

Humans. Whether they were his people or not, Choctaw don't think he would ever understand them.

Then again, he's sure they felt the same about him and his kind. Although the humans from Europe always seemed to revere their countryhumans more than anyone Choctaw had ever met here, it was an odd phenomenon.

Suppressing his urge to lecture William, Choctaw passed over his people's donation. It wasn't a lot, barely a hundred seventy dollars, but it was all they could spare. He hoped that even with the small amount, it would be able to help Ireland if it was just a little.

A little bit of help is better than nothing, and doing nothing about what was happening to Ireland, after all, Choctaw has seen and been through...

Choctaw doesn't think he would have been able to accept or forgive himself if he did that.