Storytime: Alice

Alice’s day had been too long to be enjoyable, she was almost giddy for it to be over and for sleep to bring in a new one, but also too tired to be able to show any excitement over it… The excitement was all hers, entirely pure, no energy for it to corrupt itself, no energy to share it with anyone else, not that anyone else lived with her anyway.

She got out of her half-ass “I’m an adult” shower, put on shorts that were too short for comfort, and a shirt that would never see the light of day again, too ready for the leaf to turn to give a damn if she looked retarded or not.

She laid down, every light off or interrupted before it could get anywhere near her, turning the leaf will never feel as good as she wanted it to feel this night, nothing would interrupt a peaceful untouched night of sleep in a pitch black perfect nothingness.

Her pillow was soft, never smothering and it new the way she liked it, her blanket was slightly thinner than what would make up for her air conditioner being on, just enough for it to stay a little cold. One of her hands was under her pillow, while her legs and other arm were wrapped around her body pillow, she never felt right without one, she felt too low, too easy to be forgotten.

There was no time for her mind to dilly-dally before bed, only enough for her to say a mental good-bye to this day, and start a new one in the best way possible. She was ready for fantasy to take over, she didn’t need drugs, booze or anything else, just the blissful readiness of a mind so tired she would soar to the highest of highs.

Sleep engulfed Alice almost immediately, she didn’t even notice it, it wasn’t there, then all of the sudden she was engulfed in it’s fantastic hearth. Her mind was perfectly in sync with sleep. She new this reality could only come from the world of dreams, and there was nothing really that could compare to it in the other realities she’s been to.

She new most people didn’t quite understand what she thought about dreams, they weren’t a mystery, they weren’t delusions, they weren’t fake, especially not fake, no. She understood what others meant as it being “not real” but others didn’t seem to understand her when she said it just wasn’t the same reality, but also wasn’t an alternate reality by any means… It was a hard concept to explain, there wasn’t any way to prove it to them, only to experience it personally.

Tonight’s world was dark, and raining… perfection.

Most people

Storytime – Eeyore

Eeyore was sad.

It was raining outside, making his favorite sound on the roof of his work building. He hated it.

Rain was Eeyore’s favorite thing growing up in Texas, after a bad day at school, he would just stuff his shoes into his backpack, and walk home in the warm thick rain, getting a free massage from the warm heavy drops, it could metaphorically wash away any sadnes or pain he’d had to deal with that day. School wasn’t that great, he had few friends, he still loved learning but doing it alone isn’t the best thing ever.

It would always rain heavier in the Fall where he was, start of the school year, and just enough rain to keep him happy while he figured out how to make friends again and again. He seemed to have the worst luck, and all of his friends would move away at the end of each school year… it sucked, but he had rain as soon as he needed to start again.

In Utah, however, rain simply sucked. He loved the cloudy skies still, he loved watching lighting and night and hearing thunder all throughout the day, he loved the contrast of gray on green, and how everything looked so much better when he went outside. But it still felt like he was being teased… every year, for the 3 years he had been in Utah. Seeing the rain he loved and depended on so much, but without daring to go out into the freezing awfulness it was.

He learned his first year in Utah that the rain only looked like the one he remembered, but was cold to the point of being painful. After the first time he tried going out into it, because he felt he needed it, the next day he had bronchitis and a sinus infection. No… this wasn’t the rain he missed so much at home. This was something else, instead of cleaning his mind and soul from how much the world sucked, it just emphasized it, like a gorgeous mermaid preparing to take a sailor to die in the depths.

 

Eeyore still hadn’t quite figured out how to get things out of his system in this place of extreme weather. There was hardly ever a simply cool day, it was always freezing or burning up. He didn’t want to have to do something stupid like actually deal with his problems, why should he when he was raised relieving them through the magic of warm rain anyway? It was unfair to be raised one way, and then after he reached adulthood, which his childhood should have prepared him for, things just go lopsided and anything he learned was useless.

Making friends would probably be a good idea, but he was always bad at that, and now he wasn’t in the same environment where he was forced to make friends through group activities, now people just saw each other as adults, and unless there was specifically something of interest, had no reason to befriend each other outside of the work environment. Eeyore wasn’t the kind of person to spikes someone interest.

Eeyore also had issues with going out and exercising, or doing sports, which are supposed to help. He could go on walks, but always with his ear-buds in, listening to a book usually, and that only helped slow down the anxiety he felt, it never quite fixed it, no matter how long he kept going. He could bike to, and that was a bit better, but also harder to do, and still wasn’t quite the solution. Sports were out of the question, Eeyore was extremely uncoordinated, and the only thing he was good at in sports was hurting other people without trying to.

He had hurt people inadvertently multiple times growing up, it was probably the reason he stopped playing. He was one of the fastest while playing tag in middle school, but he was also already larger than most in his class, and twice he ran into someone else, knocking them hard onto the ground, where one busted his lip, and the other broke her arm. He hated hurting people, he always tried to be nice and kind, but his body was just a mini-bomb waiting to blow on someone and break them.

He felt like other people felt the same way about him just waiting to explode and hurt something. He had a hard time making friends, the only people he managed to make friends with were people that were also broken and short on friendliness, no one else dared give him a chance. Once a chance was given, he was able to prove that he was kind and gentle. Still, friends were scarce, he had a handful of people he could claim to be friendly with, but only maybe one person he dared call friend, because he had no idea if it was mutual, and he managed to relieve some steam speaking to them, but still he couldn’t quite get it out. The core of whatever was frustrating him was still sticking around. Maybe he should attempt to ask his potential friend if they were in fact friends or just friendly, but he didn’t want to risk losing the relationship altogether. People were afraid of trying to define things, he felt, maybe it was his eagerness to define relationships that scared others away from him.

Eeyore often tried to take on projects to distract himself, or to see if that was “his niche” and most didn’t help much. A fish aquarium was boring, buying wood to cut and build the stand for the aquarium was more work than he cared for, carving was too hard and required too much patience, a single bad cut could ruin the end result, drawing was just not a good use of his time as he was bad at it and felt like it was more of homework than it was art in any way. He even tried sewing, which he impressed himself to learn it helped more than most other things. Cleaning helped him alleviate his headaches, but he hated how immediately cold it would feel once he was done, because once there was no longer the current of warm water, the cold disgusting feeling would come to remind him this wasn’t home.

Eeyore used to read more than anyone else he knew, but he simply couldn’t get himself into the mindset for reading anymore, he felt that allowing yourself to immerse into a different world required letting go beforehand, as opposed to what most other people thought, which was that reading would be what got you there. He was at the point of fear of reading his favorite books, some that he could claim taught him the most about one feeling or another, he feared that he would not be able to feel the same and the story would lose significance to him even though he knew their significance was extremely real.

He was slowly picking up old habits that he never realized he appreciated this much. Simple things like listening to a specific musician he never actively listened to, only with someone else as proxy, or cooking, which he never did unless annoyed to the point where cooking was preferential to the annoyance of his parents asking him to help prepare the meal. He wondered if parents nagging at a child to do something, then stopping once the child complied somehow programmed brains to relieve stress when doing that, but didn’t follow the thought too far.

 

Eeyore worried.

He was still in his early 20’s, and felt like he was not only missing out on things he should be doing right now. He also felt that he may be crippling his goals for the future. He wanted a family, he wanted to provide, he wanted to be romantic, he wanted to have control over his body to play with his children, he wanted as many children as his wife would allow, he wanted to be an example at work. He was slowly losing grasp of all of these things. How could he make a family when he couldn’t even approach girls or ask them on dates? How could he provide if he had no one that needed him? How could he be romantic if he didn’t even dare ask someone if they were friends or just friendly? How could he take control of his body, when he had spent the last few years neglecting it? How could he have children when he couldn’t get close enough to someone to even consider marriage as a possibility? How could he be an example at work when the stress was giving him headaches and making him look like the biggest slacker there, despite his best efforts?

Eeyore wanted to try something, anything, to make progress in his life. He was at a standstill and had no idea how to get out, anyone he tried to approach that wasn’t broken themselves would make conversation, but would go right back to ignoring him as soon as a chance presented itself. He tried to never be imposing or annoying, he tried to just make light conversation, as if to say “I’m not trying to make you my next best friend that I can annoy daily, just saying words and trying to be normal like everyone else, don’t hate me, please?” But the success rate was next to irrelevant, and if he excluded broken people, it was irrelevant. He often enough worried he wasn’t giving a chance to some people that sounded more broken than himself, but he had nothing to offer them, and nothing he could gain from them, he hated attempts at serious conversation and most other more broken people seemingly didn’t get that, causing him more stress than he would otherwise hold on to… At least that is what he thought, it could just be that he thought he was better than them and wanted a life a good as the people who didn’t have to deal with stress and anxiety like he did.

Eeyore was falling apart.

 

Storytime – Hercules (caution, bad… not quite nsfw)

Outline:
1. deliver cinnamon rolls

2. the talk

3. getting closer (ugh)

4. the fight

5. ???

FIRST DRAFT:

1. deliver cinnamon rolls

It was a normal day for Hercules, work was 8 hours of talking to boring people about their boring issues that he had to act like he cared for. He felt he was too good at what he did for the position he was in, but lacked the opportunity to grow within work, leaving him at troubleshooting people not knowing their passwords day in and day out.

Hercules was a high functioning anti-social. Intelligent and good at what he chose to work at, but really bad at making friends with people he considered fundamentally different from himself.

He was raised in places where poverty abounded, but raised by people who grew up where he was now… Idaho. He was raised too well to let himself succumb to the poverty and to accept the same future as the friends he was raised with, due to this, moving back to Idaho for school and to try to make a future for himself that his heritage would suggest he was capable for, but this still made him different from all the white Americans around him, white here meaning as far as skin color and as far as habits, preferences and general lifestyle.

Hercules currently felt he didn’t fit in to many places anymore, he was always prideful that he was allowed to expect more out of his future than his classmates and friends from where he was raised outside of the US, but he couldn’t disregard that he had received a 3rd world education and felt lower than the Americans currently surrounding him, but he managed to find some semblance of comfort going to church weekly, he sat by the same person each time, Meg. They hardly ever talked, and he wasn’t sure if she qualified him as a friend in any way, but he was glad for the habit, and looked forward to seeing her each time. He didn’t feel in love with her by any means, simply grateful that he had some regular comfort while he worked on his professional and scholar life.

It was soon to be memorial day weekend and Hercules’ mother always overcooked before family events. She offered that he should take a few cinnamon rolls to his friends, not really knowing that in his mind he didn’t really have any around, but that did only mean, maybe, one person, Meg.

Hercules enjoyed having opportunities to see her outside of the standard sitting near each other at church, still he didn’t think he liked her, but having a single person to maybe call a friend, even if it’s an awkward unsure situation, it is worth putting some extra time into for the extra endorphin’s. He took the plate with a few rolls on it, prepared by his mother, and got into his car to deliver them.

Arriving, Hercules knocked on the door and had no response for a few seconds. Figuring no one was there, he turned to leave to just then have the door open behind him with Meg in its frame. Her hair was disheveled, the dirty blonde hair known to Luna Lovegood, thin, fair skinned and with coke-bottle glasses. She wore a light and loose shirt, tucked into one side of her knee-length skirt. All looked normal at first, though Hercules noticed as she turned around letting him in after her that her leg seemed to have a few drips running down it. At first he just had to pause, his first thought was pretty clearly “did I just walk into something private?”

He entered after her and placed the rolls on the table, then looked at her and with all of his lack of social skills asked if he’d just walked into her masturbating. He tried to put a smile on his face, hoping to avoid it being creepy or too happy with the fact. Immediate regret. She looked at him the way he could best categorize as the “I’m not actually your friend and you aren’t allowed intimacy with me” look, it was the one he feared. He didn’t intend to offend in any way, and was unsure why he thought it even necessary to mention at first, but it was in his nature, and now he just had to to damage prevention at this point, part of why he was low on friends maybe.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked, and to Hercules’ surprise allowed him time to actually try to defend himself.

“Well, did I?” He asked, once again regretting staying on topic. “Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t lose any respect for you over it, and its not like I expect that to mean anything for me… I’m just asking… and not sure why I asked in the first place…” He was always bad at damage prevention, how was he supposed to control something he didn’t even know why he would let it out, it was clearly against social norm. “Anyway, um… bye, Meg.” he said turning and walking back to his car.

More regret.

Hercules knew things like that weren’t normal to ask, even if he was sure he was right, but he meant what he said about not losing any respect for her or not expecting anything out of the question. To him the question was as social as any other, he saw something he thought of as amusing and unexpected, asked about it the same way you would ask someone with a cart full of junk food and pop while leaving the grocery store if they were going to have a party, he considered both harmless, but knew through experience, that his opinion of harmless would differ from other peoples.

He returned home and got back to his book. He couldn’t help himself but wonder what next time at church would be like. He would be there early as per usual, in the far back corner, and would try to keep randoms from sitting there, it wasn’t just his seat of preference, but also the preferred seat to anyone visiting or coming or the first time. Would she come and sit next to him as if nothing happened? Would she have a family event that would keep her from coming? Would she ignore the fact that her sister would be there and bring it up without detail, trying to do something about it? Hercules didn’t even know what that would qualify as, which is what kept his mind going, what resolution does one take to being asked an improper question… He feared a serious conversation… Those were the most boring ones, people having serious conversations kept repeating the same thing as if he were stupid, or adding sentimental value as if he cared about it, he really didn’t. To him, a conversation, if entered with a goal in mind, should be having the goal clearly stated, argued for without sentimentality and then and answer given, or a discussion had if it were not the case for a simple answer.

He closed the book and took a shower before going to sleep.

Would he have to wait until church for her to try to talk to him for a serious conversation if there was going to be one? He wondered if she even remembered where he lived. She had come over for game nights once or twice a year or so ago. Would she do the pointing at his chest thing while saying something like that she felt mistreated or similar or would she ask to talk to him outside?

2. the talk

Once again, work was boring. Hercules was bugged by customers involving sentimentality into his job about how the company he worked for was declining, and it was all their fault for the issues the customer was facing, even sometimes after he was able to prove they had just forgotten their password, or saved it incorrectly. He was badgered by his manager to try to push more sales onto customers who didn’t really need it, and who could work perfectly fine on the products they were currently using. The vending machine was essentially empty, leaving him stuck with the kind of foods that would only be intentionally consumed once the zombie apocalypse took place. He was glad when it was over, and had focused so much on the last portion of the shift that he’d forgotten speaking to Meg at all the other day.

Hercules drove home and expected to be able to do nothing much again, mind still leaving the event out. He received a text while driving and noticed it when he arrived home and sat in front of his computer. “We need to talk” was all that it contained. He knew this meant the serious conversation, but he didn’t mind, he figured being vague was good enough for him. Some would find it cowardly to not bring up the topic that you know is going to be the issue, he didn’t care, to him, if it mattered enough to the person they should be the ones to bring it up. He hardly ever cared enough about an issue to bring up seriousness into conversations. People who knew him by obligation, family for example, said he was pretty amicable.

He drove over to Meg’s house and knocked on the door. He was greeted by Bonnie, Meg’s older sister, who seemed surprised, gave him a welcoming hug and then smiled expecting to know what he had come for. Hercules liked Bonnie, but she was simple, he semi-actively avoided calling her his friend, it was hard to keep conversations with her… too much small talk or real talk, neither good.

Before Hercules could ask or Meg, she tried to hide the storm in her walk as she announced she was going out and walked past him grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him along. He went willingly and she let go, allowing him to lead the direction to his car and get in.

He didn’t open the door for her, the few times he’d drive her he hadn’t done that. He considered it a good action, and liked to qualify himself as chivalrous most of the time, as it was an easy to understand straightforwardly social concept. But with Meg he’d never been able to really, just felt awkward, and for other things like offering her his coat on cold or windy days, she sternly turned them down as if jokes or pranks.

Hercules was surprised on the way up, the conversation did not begin with any pointing or yelling, or in any sort of brisk way. She simply asked “Are you going to tell anyone?” The reply of course was easy, he had already thought of it.

“No” he said easily. “I have no reason to do that.”

“Why not?” she asked, surprising Hercules once more. “Wouldn’t you want to tell the bishop or my sister or parents?”

He understood why she would think that, they knew each other primarily through church, if their relationship were based upon that, he would report her for her own good, to edify her or something else cheesy like that. But Hercules had a different life philosophy than most people around him.

“No, I meant it when I said I don’t lose any respect for you for it or anything like that. It impresses me if I’m being entirely honest, I was worried for a bit that I was the only person made of meat in this place.”

“How would that impress you? I don’t see anything impressive about it… It would make more sense if you were interested, but impressed is sort of creepy…”

Hercules noticed she was now looking out the window and anxiety started to stream through him, he would always think of multiple outcomes to serious conversations, and then do something else he hadn’t considered because he had little to no control over his mouth. Taking a deep breath he explained “It impresses me because, to me, it means you think for yourself and being entirely honest, because you were dripping… that is impressive… I thought…” ‘IT MEANS YOU THINK FOR YOURSELF?!  What kind of bull crap is that?’ he thought to himself, his mouth had bested him again.

“How is that impressive?” she asked turning back to face him, face impressively plain.

“Well… this is awkward, but the way I thought it worked was… well, the more wet, the better it was. And through conversations or school, I thought most attempts at pleasure wouldn’t finish wet enough to be dripping, I figured it would be mostly a contained wetness? Not sure though… clearly… not an expert.”

She looked back out the window as Hercules kept driving. He had a destination in plans already, there were mountains, and lots of pretty nature spots to sit and talk if needed, or to sit in silence. He was fine with either. Silence would mean that his mind could wander, currently it was trying to remember if he had misheard how far the wet would go, or if he was correct.

Arriving to the camp site he had in mind, he got out of the car and headed over to a bench out in the open, she followed and sat on the same side has him, an extra seat in between the two. As far as Hercules cared, the conversation had stopped and if she wanted anything else, she would have to initiate it again, he was comfortable with the silence, especially in a pretty place.

After a few minutes of silence, Meg asked “Why don’t you care? Most people would…”

“Most people have an ideal of what they are, and think everyone needs to be at their ideal… My ideal is being my own, not alone, but separate from most of the other morons out there. Masturbating while being a church-goer is the least I could care about or worry myself about… besides, we’re just meat, I can’t judge someone for being fleshly… striving for pleasure is natural, I am more offended by people who act like they don’t, or who act like they are better than it. ”

“So… would nothing offend you? You make it sound like anything that is human nature is OK… ”

“No, not anything. Only things that don’t harm others, the only thing you can harm masturbating is yourself or the ego of people who think that they need to ignore their meat to survive this life.”

Another moment of silence.

“What about casual sex?”

“It is fine, consent is sexy. As long as both parties are equally up to it, good for them.”

“What if I told you that I have casual sex…?”

At this Hercules had to pause, he looked at her half expecting a joking smirk or similar to be on her face, but there was none. He didn’t mind casual sex, nor that she, the person, could be having it for the fact of it being sex alone. What he did care about was her age and the few times they had spoken… Meg was 19, and in Hercules’ opinion, not a dominant character, his concern was that he knew men, he knew from watching porn himself what the popular view of a woman’s roll in sex was: a body. He knew that sex was a primarily male dominated scene, it is based on a timeline determined by the male, ends when the male is done and usually will be the way the male likes. Most women wouldn’t be able to object to a males imposing body, so most learned to fake climaxing to finish it sooner than later if displeasing, but how would Meg have the instinct to do that at 19 and in a place where sex was kept quiet about, and there was next to no communication about it?

His mind must have shown through on his face, Meg stood up in front of him.

“So. Do you like me? Why do you look so sad after I say that I have casual sex?” She was closer to the tone he expected from the serious conversation.

Hercules looked back at her trying his best at a kind face. He tried to let his concern come through as he spoke. “No, Meg, I don’t like you. It’s not that I feel betrayed or envious that you say you have casual sex. I don’t have a sense of ownership over you. I am concerned… You’re pretty young to be having sex…”

“How am I too young to have sex? Seriously? I am 1 year younger than you, and the age of consent is 18 for a reason! What happened to ‘As long as both parties are equally up to it, good for them’?”

“I guess there should be more added to that… ” He frowned. “I personally feel that the age of consent for sex should be when you actually know what you are getting into… ”

Noticing that she was about to start asking questions, he continued. “Sex is something that is dominated by men, and men are beasts, I can say that from experience for what goes on in my own mind. Most men don’t have casual sex with the goal of mutual benefits, they go into sex expecting to get away with pleasing themselves as much as possible, regardless of whoever else is involved. I wouldn’t care about most people getting themselves into a bad situation where someone else expects to establish a sort of ownership over them, but I know you… sort of… I’m not judging you, I am honestly just sad that you… ” Yeah, let’s not go with ‘have been taken advantage of, that is no good.’ “…May have not been an equal partner in having sex.”

She was clearly annoyed at this point. “What does that even mean?! It was consensual, I’m not a little girl that was taken advantage of!”

“I didn’t say that, but, can I try to explain how I mean that?” He looked and was given the ‘go on, dig yourself a deeper hole’ look. That was fine enough. “So… do you mind if I ask how many times… No, never mind, that isn’t relevant, sorry. When was the first time you had sex?”

“About 3 months ago, and how is this relevant?”

He lifted his hand as if asking for patience, his expression clearly not one of comfort. “And how old was he?”

“Hercules, what does it concern you how old he was?! We were both adults!”

“That isn’t what I mean. How old was he?”

“20.”

“OK, and how was the first part? When you actually lost your virginity, that is. What did he do besides just putting it in, or rather, before putting it in?”

“Nothing, he didn’t hurt me, he didn’t hit me, and he didn’t yell at me, anything bad like that…”

“Meg, not what he didn’t do. What did he do? A woman losing her virginity hurts, I’m sure you can tell me that better than what I currently know even. Did he do anything to make it hurt less or make you more comfortable?”

“What has he supposed to do, give me an Advil beforehand? ‘Oh, by the way, Meg. Take these 2 Advil before we meet up, it’ll help, I’m a man!’ He didn’t do anything before, Hercules!”

“He didn’t ask to make sure you were comfortable before going in? He didn’t use any lubricant or even spit so that he wouldn’t be going in dry? Women become wet when horny as a natural lubricant, from what I understand dry sex is downright painful, did he go in entirely dry? Did he make you comfortable with asking him to stop if you decided that you weren’t going to go through with losing your virginity? Did he treat you the same way he did while you spoke as friend probably before, or like you were your vagina?” He paused, getting angry. He took a breath and continued , frowning. “That’s what I’m asking, Meg.”

“I didn’t even know that, how was he supposed to know that being a guy?”

“Meg, do you watch porn? Does he? I do, and that is how I know what its application looks like. I’m a virgin, same as you were before, and still, sex ed classes, or even biology classes studying reproduction in 9th grade teach that. It’s not an abstract concept.” He hated when he started being factual, it meant he was angry and someones feelings might get hurt… as if that hadn’t already happened. “I’m not trying to hurt you, Meg. I’m sorry I get heated in discussions.”

He went silent for a moment, then standing up and walking over to the creek just a dozen or so yards away from the bench, reaching for her to come with. She didn’t let him touch her but walked behind him, and when he sad, she sat as well on the edge of the creek.

“OK, let me try again… “He thought for a moment. “OK, what is your favorite position, Meg?”

She sighed before answering. “With the guy being on top, kneeling and bent over me…”

“OK, so, missionary. Mind if I guess why you prefer that one?” He looked at her and noticed a very slight nod as she reached for a rock to throw in the creek with a ‘clunk’. “You are comfortable, on your back, you are able to see the guys face, reach around him for comfort, tell him if you want him to stop while being able to confirm he heard you and not having to control whatever it is going on, you are able to just enjoy it, and usually be kissed while at it?” He looked over again.

“Well… not quite for all of those, but some of them….”

He had convinced himself he was right and gone completely off the mark, it was the result of his pride, it was always there. “OK, then what is your least favorite position?”

She laughed, he wasn’t sure if it was a laugh of annoyance or just tired of the conversation. “I think it’s ‘doggy style’ ? With me on all fours, and the guy from behind.” She pierced her lips in a frown still looking down the creek. Tired of the conversation it was.

“Why don’t you like that one?”

“No reason… I don’t think.” She replied looking down.

He thought this meant that he was actually more accurate than she had led on. “No, I’m serious, I’m actually trying to figure this out. I can only guess that its for the opposite reasons of why I’d think you like missionary style more: You can’t see him, it is just a penis and a vagina, but no holding, no comfort, maybe hair pulling?”

She took a bit before answering. He hoped she wouldn’t just ignore the question and didn’t want to give her an out of it, or interrupt her deciding to answer it.

“I don’t know when he is going to finish…” She finally said.

Got it! he thought. Then he chastised himself for wanting to win a debate, and only then noticing that this is what he was concerned would happen to her during sex.

Hercules tried the kind face once more, looking at her. “Did any of them finish inside of you?”

“No, of course not, Hercules… That would be stupid.”

He tried to hide his relief, and after a moment of thinking, asked again. “So… did one, or more, of them… cum somewhere on you?”

“Well, yeah, isn’t that what happens during sex? It’s boring to actually finish in a condom, right?” She added a forced laugh at the end.

“OK, mind saying where, then?”

She avoided the question for a bit with an “It’s fine, really.” He wouldn’t let it by.

“C’mon, Meg. I’m not going to make fun of you or say anything to chastise you, I really am just trying to figure this out. Besides, like I said, I watch porn myself. There won’t be a place on your body that I won’t have seen cum on some womans body, really. I can guess if you’d rather? On the stomach maybe, the small of the back, the bum… the face…” He tried to keep his tone light, hoping to lead on that he was more OK with it than he actually was.

“Yeah, those and one more or two…”

Hercules had to take a deep breath, and then he sighed after trying to push the anger down. “Meg, you know how I said men are beasts?” She nodded. “I meant that more literally than it may have seemed. Did they ask for your permission before cumming on you?”

“Why would they need my permission? It’s part of sex, it was consensual, and people go into sex knowing they’re going to exchange bodily fluids.”

Hercules closed his eyes, and laid back against the ground. He rubbed his face as if in disbelief, eyes still closed, and reached for Meg’s hand, holding it without letting her pull away. He didn’t pull as if to have her lay down next to him, just in hopes of still feeling present to her, though he couldn’t face her without thinking of morons cumming on her as if she was their property, without asking for permission, likely not helping her clean herself, and probably walking off shortly after. Probably with just enough time to put on their clothes, he assumed.

“Meg, listen… I’m going to say this, and I’ll ask that you let me finish, even if it sounds stupid and at first you feel that I am offending you.” He sat up, looking straight ahead, but still holding her hand in his, yet not daring face her.” The reason it worries me that you are having sex, and the reason I do think you are too young to be having sex on your own, is that guys are morons.

“Guys think of sex as self-pleasure, not as a mutual or even consensual thing. Them cumming on you without our permission isn’t the norm, or just to be expected, it is an act of domination or ownership. I say this because I feel the same way, it’s the same instinct that makes me want to win an argument and then kick someone while their down, it is purely for my own pride and my own ego, never for anyone else. It is a sense of victory, of owning without caring. It is disgusting, and it honestly hurts me more than it should to think of troglodytes taking advantage of the fact that you think this is the norm in sex…

“I’m not trying to say necessarily that you are a victim in the same extreme way as a rape victim or anything near that. And you being a victim at all is still entirely up for debate, but I do feel without much doubt that you have been taken advantage of… and it makes me angry! I know I have little right to be angry in this situation, but that is what I feel about it.

“It makes me angry at Idaho for allowing the topic of sex to be so suppressed, it makes me angry at teachers and parents all the same, for not explaining that men can be dicks if left unchecked, and that women need to be aware of it and not let it happen. It makes me angry at porn for feeding the idea that acts of ownership and claim are normal in sex, because even though the people watching don’t understand it, they like it, and will feed more money into the industry.

“It makes me angry that there are a handful of men out there that think they have claim over you, or your body, regardless of anything else you do in your life. That when you cross their mind, it is your body, as property that they have marked, and not what you’ve been through or where you plan on going.

“I am sorry if I offend you, Meg. I love you, purely fraternally, but I love you. I have no intention of hurting you, only hoping that you understand my point of view on these things, as someone with instincts as disgusting as the ones I feel have been passed as if the norm to you. I am sorry.”

He looked at her, sorrow in his eyes, hoping to not have gone too far. He meant all that he said, but knew that most of it was patronizing, his goal wasn’t to be patronizing, it wasn’t to make her feel stupid or abused, it was to show her that he cared, and that the way she probably thought was going to be the norm of sex for the rest of her life was quite wrong, and she shouldn’t allow herself to be in that position, unless aware of what it meant before allowing it to happen.

She stood up suddenly and said nothing more than “Let’s go.”

Hercules looked down, his mind taking precedence over actually saying or doing anything else. He wasn’t sure if he should continue saying anything, he didn’t want to backtrack, but also didn’t want to offend here, he decided he should apologize and ask to continue the friendship as if nothing else had happened. He started to consider how to do that, he couldn’t even face her. Tell her I didn’t mean it? No, can’t backtrack. Just say I’m sorry maybe… no, I’ve already said that, what good would it to? Try to hold her hand perhaps. He thought and then looked at her hands, already lifting a hand, they were holding each other in between her thighs. Scratch that.  He put his hand back. Did I not ask enough questions to prove my point, should I ask her something else so I don’t sound like I think I own the truth, and so I’m not so patronizing?. They arrived at her house and opened her door. Oh crap! Not yet! Her door closed.

He hated doing that, he hated getting stuck in his mind and simply failing to be. Sure, he enjoyed silence, and it was never awkward with Meg, except for now… Hercules started re-visiting the thoughts he had just a few moments ago, changing them to the past tense, wondering what could have been. Then arrived home and went straight for his computer. It was easy forgetting things and doing nothing when he could just let his mind go blank watching useless videos for the rest of the day.

 

The next day he received a text from Meg’s brother asking him to come over play tabletop games, he wanted to, of course, but wasn’t sure he’d be welcome by everyone there.

Hercules pulled out his phone and sent the text “Your brother just called me over, just wondering if you’re OK with that or if I should steer clear?”

Quick as always, came the reply “It’s fine.”

Good enough, he headed over, and wasn’t surprised to notice that Meg was in her room with the door closed from the moment he walked in. He played for a bit, but didn’t want to impose, and since he wasn’t having fun anyway, his mind too busy with how much he might be annoying her, he left only about an hour after they had started.

He hated it, sure, he had people he could be friendly with, but actually calling someone his friend took more… and less. He didn’t need someone to hang out with, just someone he could be himself with, without having to act or hide any part, and sitting silently next to Meg was enough, everyone else tried to talk about things that didn’t interest him, too many real subjects… Hercules liked to keep conversations purely for fun, senseless comments and jabs that didn’t need to be intelligent, they only had to not relate to all of the other junk going on with the rest of his life.

The next few weeks dragged on extremely unpleasantly, at church Meg either didn’t show or came in late and sat somewhere else. Hercules hated being bugged by all the other people, without her near to make it look like he was having a conversation, he didn’t care for being bugged, and would leave early. He stopped texting her, for fear she would outright tell him to go away. He wasn’t sure how to approach her to ask if they could still be friends or similar. he just didn’t want to spend the undetermined amount of time it took to find another Meg for him to cope with himself.

 

3. Getting Closer

About 1 month after the talk, Hercules was early to church as usual, waiting for nothing, simply there to be there. Despite not really being friends with anyone there, or enjoying their company, he did believe organizations such as churches made people “better” in a way that matched his own opinion of what that meant. All he had to do was filter out the hate and judging mentality of a hefty amount of people that also went to the same kind of organization.

He was filtering through a hymnal book when someone sat next to him. It was Meg, same as used to happen before the talk. She just came, and sat down half a seat away from him.

“Hi, Meg.”

“Hi, Herc.”

The hour passed without another word being spoken. Once the first block was over, he asked. “How are you?” He wasn’t sure if he should balance

Storytime – Piper

Axel finally put together the courage to ask her out, he didn’t need a date, but he definitely wanted to have a friend to hang out with on demand, and he was finally out of debt after so long.

“Piper, are you doing anything anything tonight? I am finally out of debt and want to go see a movie, but going alone is creepy, so it would be better with a friend.” – His text said.

The reply came soon to keep him out of his misery: “I actually have a ballroom concert at school tonight, but if you want to come see it instead of a movie you should! But you would still be creepily alone, sorry.”

A let down, but his anxiety had prepared him for a lot worse, a no without reason, or being ignored entirely. He loved that she always kept things from getting awkward, he should learn from her.

Knowing It was silly, he tried to not be interested too easily: “Hmmm, I might… Where?”

Quick again, for Axel’s peace of mind.

“It’s at the school at 7:30 so come if you want”

It was decided, he was going, not that he’d say that thoough, his anxiety already took his mind too every other place and he forgot about even trying to reply, his mind was already at the concert, imagining outcomes one cheesier than the others.

He had to have a movie that his family invited him to delayed to the next day. But that was fine, priorities were priorities, and he needed to work on having a support group outside of his family.

 

Revision: Summary

Malcolm Silva

Professor Holly Guile

English 1010 – 077

12 December 2014

 

Revision Summary: Problematizing, Reflection/Welcome, Exploratory Research

While revising these 3 papers, my goal was to apply what I had learned throughout the semester, primarily with who my target audience was, then by taking the time to word things in a different way to find what suited best, and finally to double check for any fallacies. My personal issues in these 3 items are respectively: I write my opinion, regardless of who is reading it, I don’t like judging others for their opinion, and don’t like that they would judge mine, however, this is a fallacy in itself, what I do has nothing to do with what other must do, especially not when my goal is not always to express myself, but sometimes to convince others; I hate revising my texts, I have often mood swings, and attempt to gather as much information from my daily interactions as possible, in doing so, I will often have an entirely different opinion on a subject matter, or may be in a more aggressive or passive mood than I was when it was first written, so I usually tend to avoid rewrites as it has left other papers disconnecting, this is an area that needed a large amount of improvement over the semeser; the fallacy I am most likely to commit is the fallacy of cherry picking, I very unoften have to deal with others knowing more about a subject than myself, or knowing it well enough to challenge me, so I have become quite apt at cherry picking while “blinding” my rhetorical opponents and usually being successfuly in getting away with it. But I may soon be caught red-handed, so it is to a point where I should be able to move away from the bad habbit.

In reviewing the Reflection/Welcome paper, it felt like I was trying to write a paper for school, instead of introduce myself with a focus on how rhetoric or writing has affected me. This makes me look immature and boring, so, I decided to rewrite the paper following the essential skeleton of the original, so it will still qualify as a revision. I separated the smaller experiences into their own paragraphs, giving more personal detail as to why they were important, and attempting to make less use of presumptuousness in my writing, humility is something I also need ot work on. The paper ended up being half a page longer, but hopefully this allows it to be more personal, more concise, less presumptuous and that it will allow readers to understand me a little better.

For the Problematizing a Significant event or local issue, and the exploratory research papers, my main goal was the fallacy point, checking sources, re-reading the source material to confirm accuracy of statements and confirming that all source material was necessary for the papers development, so as to not simply use a filler article without relevance or point causing the paper to become disconnect. Some few paragraphs were changed, once more in an attempt to be more likeable and less presumptuous to my audience, while also trying to enforce and make my point more concise. Little change wad done on the source material and the application of it, but some conclusions has their wording changed to be more applicable to the paper as a whole, instead of fragmenting it unnecessarily.

Revision: Exploratory Research

I am a 6’4’’ Afro-American male, and my life experiences have led to an interest in how that may be affecting me, and if this effect is positive or negative, and if there was any reason for it. Among my more recent experiences where race may be a relevant factor is the occasion where a ginger female child preferred to cross a heavily snow packed street, and then cross it back, instead of crossing me on the same side of the road (Silva, 1). This specific event was the difference between the passive curiosity of how my race may affect the outcome of my day, and doing some research to find out.

My first attempt at finding an answer led me to an interview looking to understand a study being performed by Paul C. Quinn, a professor of psychology at the University of Delaware. The study tested infants from 3-9 months of age, and how well they could recognize same-race faces as well as other-race faces, comparing the results to see if there was any preference. Professor Quinn states, “It seems that, as time goes on during the infancy period, and we experience some categories more frequently than others, we begin to process those categories differentially (Ann Manser, 1).” It is worth note, that the study found the same results in the recognition ability when supressing actual facial colors, leaving only facial features such as nose format, eye slant and mouth shape as the factors to be tested with and recognized.

The article was exactly what I was looking for, leading me to tested factual data of a possible reason why my race might affect my daily life, so I went to the source. Besides discovering how the study was conducted specifically and the sample size, the result didn’t change from what I previously understood, it still concluded that infants started with the ability to recognize same-race and other-race faces equally, but over time, this ability would slowly wither down to a point where they had a clear preference to own-race faces regardless of familiarity with the specific face (Paul C. Quinn, 643).

Here I have confirmation that it wasn’t in the childs nature to avoid me with my size or race, but, more likely that this avoidance and potential fear was likely lost over time. Understanding that there are extremists, they are qualified as extremists for being the exception, the rarity, so, this child likely wasn’t raised to hate or fear other races outright, but that still makes me wonder where the fear came from, when I had done nothing to give it a cause?

The article did however, lead me to where Prof. Quinn acquired the interest for the topic, which was another study performed by Sandy Sangrigoli, a PhD in psychology from France.

The study by Sandy Sangrigoli was more in depth and thorough, but specific only to 3-month old infants, testing their ability to recognize same-race and other-race faces with or without time to familiarize themselves, and concluded that the infants had the ability to recognize same-race faces slightly better when a very short amount of time was given to familiarize, but had the same chance of recognizing same-race or other-race faces when more time was given. (Sangrigoli, 3-month-old 1224).

At this point, we have confirmed that infants have no preference of race, but lose that ability over time. Both studies share the fact that all infants tested had statements from their parents claiming that they had next to no contact with the other-race faces tested, besides the random passing on the street (1221). Looking to find out more information on the process of infants losing the ability to recognize other-race faces as well as their own, I found that Sandy Sangrigoli is somewhat of an expert in the field, and had performed a prior study, testing infants ages 3-5 looking to test the Other-Race Effect, or the ability to recognize other-race faces as well as own-race faces (1221).

This prior study of Sangrigoli’s was performed on 3-5 year old infats, looking to test their ability to recognize same-race faces and compare that to their recognition of other-race faces, they tested with caucasian children, once more with statements from their parents claiming little to no contact with other-race people (the other race tested was Asian). The conclusion was that though they had the ability to recognize both races equally when upright and without any hinderances, when the images were placed upside-down, they lost the ability to recognize other-race faces, indicating that the infants were selective on which faces they cared about enough to recognize when hindered (Sangrigoli, non-native-effects 83).

As we move forward with the studies in the timeline of an infants life, the one common factor in them all is their lack of contact with the other-race faces tested. I don’t see a need to continue on much further, the child that avoided me was not too much older than 8, and likely didn’t change much from that age, being still submitted to the same lifestyle her parents had chosen for her since she was a newborn.

This information does shed more light on why she may have avoided me, or potentially feared me, though it doesn’t answer it outright. I notice, however, that the term fear may be more appropriate, and it connects many prior memories, and a point that is embedded those that have looked into the after effects of some globally significant events, such as 9-11.

9-11 is a date, and a date that everyone in the USA and still a large amount of foreigners can recognize almost immediately, knowing exactly what I am referring to, what it was, and at least some of the effects of it. For the sake of clarity, on the 11th of September of 2001, 4 passenger airliners were hijacked by a terrorist organization named al-Qaeda, and then flown into symbols of the power of the USA, with the most-well known being the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center in New York City, killing thousands. While this was happening, we the viewers had very little information on why it had happened, or who had done it, the one thing we knew almost for sure, was that it was a middle eastern organization, and based on messages prior and shortly after, they also claimed to represent the Islamic nation, and that was all that we heard. However, what was missed was that they were an extremist group, and not a sanctioned representation of the nation.

The effect, relevant to my point, of the 9-11 attack was rampant discrimination and terrorism directed towards all middle-easterners, with disregard to where specifically they were from or even if they shared the same religion as the extremist group. This led to multiple deaths as well as general mistreating of any with similarities to the extremists, even if irrelevant similarities (Khan). The point that I intend to make by comparing this to infants simply learning to prefer faces similar to the ones they see on a daily basis is that we, as humans, fear what we don’t know.

Studies have tested and confirmed that when we don’t know what might happen, depending on how much will be based on this change, the more we lean towards the extremist fear (Brown, 339). This fear will lead us towards the fight or flight response, where in our daily lives means no more than moving forward or halting in your progress, when this response is triggered on a global scale, and what you fear for is your liberty or rights that you have lived with, your response will not be so mild, it will be the difference of shooting someone for what later becomes an illogical reason, or moving forward acting as if nothing had happened and there is nothing you can do about it.

A small girl moving out of her way to avoid me, and after-effects of 9-11 are different sides of a similar fear, with 9-11 clearly being the extreme case, and the child avoiding me being next to nothing in comparison. However, both are based on the fear of what you don’t know. The child avoiding me was her choosing flight instead of fight, which makes clear sense, seeing as she couldn’t have been more than 4ft tall and I am not only more than 2ft taller, but also large in stature, my worry then becomes, what if I were the smaller one? Would the threat of me be gone, or would the response change from flight to fight?

Revision: Problematizing: Little Red

I was raised in Brazil, and being realistic, racial profiling exists everywhere, regardless of how common a race may be. But small things do change. Some jokes need to be harsher in Brazil to become relevant. While here a single word or look can strike home. Not to say the words or looks change their meaning from place to place, but just the fact that they are viewed differently, but are still used, can change the effect they have on people.

I was raised by parents who don’t believe any one person should be the sole person of interest in a group, I’ve learned to follow the law to keep myself safe; make sure the law is kept properly not just in letter, but in spirit as well; to stand up for any suffering from injustice and to make good use of my time, always serving a purpose and never cheating on it… However, I am a 6’5’’ dark skinned broad shouldered man.

One morning, walking to work on a day considerably bright for winter, trudging through the iced over snow, already on the right side of the road so I didn’t have to risk jay walking on unplowed ice, shortly after passing the school area, a small red coat turns the corner just ahead of me and raises her head, the child looked like a fairytale personified, pale skin nearly matching the snow, a few freckles sprinkled across, deep hazel eyes that made it seem like she had just seen something entirely new that she couldn’t quite place as right or wrong, and shoulder length auburn hair that had to match leaves on the perfect transition from summer to fall.

She crossed the ice packed, unplowed street, not glancing twice. I thought nothing of it until I reached the next corner and glanced back before crossing the road, only to see her crossing back to the side we were both originally on, trudging once more through the ice packed, unplowed street. With her size the snow must have been at her knees, but that must not have been worse than the possible outcome of the alternative…

Stranger danger is a thing, and a thing I support fully. Children need to learn quickly what things are not OK, and why. But why was the appearance of me not OK? Would Little Red have crossed the ice packed street regardless of it being me or another man? Are there no tall and robust men in her family and her family’s social circle? Are there no men with darker skin than her own, snow white? Or was it a choice of her family and their social circle to simply not engage in relations with the colored? What if Little Red was hurt by someone who resembled me and this has nothing to do with her family’s nurturing?

Little Red’s reaction to me is enough to make you wonder if her growing process will make it better or worse and how deeply that will be ingrained into her Self. Will a possible bad experience make it worse? Or is she already set in those ways and thoughts? Will she digress from her current social norm and be the first to mingle with the dirt?

Most of what will become of this facet of Little Red’s life will be decided by fate, but it starts somewhere… When asking what leads this to happen, you will get interesting information on children developing the ability to distinguish races, and how their parents affect it once they do.

Paul Quinn from the University of Delaware conducted research on the matter, and had interesting findings:

At 3 months of age, the Caucasian infants we studied showed a looking-time preference for Caucasian faces, and when we collaborated with researchers in China, we found the same preference among Asian infants for Asian faces. Also at 3 months, infants had the ability to tell apart different faces within their own race as well as within other racial groups, but by 9 months, they had lost that ability for races other than their own.

It seems that, as time goes on during the infancy period, and we experience some categories more frequently than others, we begin to process those categories differentially.

After concluding that it was not an innate preference of one race over another, Quinn decided to request that the parents of Caucasian babies to read books to their children, from the age of 6 months forward, that featured Asian faces and within 2-3 weeks the children were able to distinguish one Asian face from another once more. This confirms that it was nothing but a lack of familiarity that led the infants to not recognize other-race faces.

But what happens when this lack of familiarity is led further in their lives? Quinn adds:

One interesting question is what the relationship might be between this early categorizing of faces and the stereotyping and prejudice that can exist in children as young as 4 years of age, and, how transient or permanent are the training effects? When exposure to other-race faces stops, infants’ other-race face recognition abilities may eventually regress to chance levels.

The problem isn’t innate, children are born recognizing all races the same way, but they are raised and taught differently, Little Red didn’t need to see me as me to be scared enough to cross the ice packed street, she might’ve not been able to tell the difference if I was another black man at all. All she needed to see was a race that her family had no interaction with. And that was enough for her to feel scared and threatened.

Racial discrimination isn’t hard to find, but the main issue is the cause. You cannot treat someone’s prejudice by sending them to jail for a couple of months when they offend someone and are held accountable for it, not when they have grown with this prejudice since they were infants. Parents and caregivers need to allow and strive for more socialization with other races, it isn’t a requirement to have someone from every other race at your home 24/7, but it may be the difference from your child fearing someone entirely harmless simply because they don’t know better.

Revision: Reflection/Welcome

Revision: Reflection/Welcome

Books have been a part of most of my life; I guess my own life is just too boring to get by. Once I was able to pick up a book and read it for myself, I started with the fantastic world of wizardry that is Harry Potter, having moved too many times for how old I was, I had few real world friends, but I learned how real written characters can become to someone, as the characters became to me.Picture 11

While still in no condition to start making my own decisions for what to read, the next book I picked off of my brothers shelf was Animorphs, which introduced me in the worst possible way to the geek community; I still can’t find anyone else, even among the plethora of convention goers I can meet daily, who loved the story and characters as much as I did, or even anyone that likes it at all, which makes little sense to me, as they were so real.

I have always used books to get away from my own life, to make friends when I didn’t live anywhere consistently enough to make flesh and blood friends, to feel the rush and power that comes from reading something that sounds so real, even though it is performed by a lowly character against all odds. After running out of books at home I hadn’t read, and finally becoming somewhat independent in my readings, I picked up a random book entirely because its cover looked cool; it was called “Tomorrow When the War Began.”

The story covers Australian teenagers in World War III, fighting with all they had to make their township of Wirrawee free once more from the invaders. What caught me the most off guard was how intensely the feelings are expressed… The apprehension of not knowing where loved ones are or if they even still are; the anxiety coming from not knowing what to do in situations well above what your capacity is expected to be; not knowing if the one fighting for life beside you will die, and if that will be your fault; the knowledge that if those fighting with you were gone there would be no one else to befriend, or to be human with. The raw form in which these emotions were delivered, was just right to strike home.

It is sad that fiction, and someone else’s mind can influence my lifestyle so much, but it opened my mind to a new train of thought, enough to make my social life take a backflip from trying to be the center of attention in a dull world, to watching others dull world and seeing what I could do to change them.

Speaker Evaluation #2 – Public Speaking class

Soaring Pyramids, Flying Kites

 

For my second speaker evaluation, I ended up having time to go to a speech on actual campus; I took the day off of work, and got to campus in time to watch a very interesting speech my Maureen Clemmons. Maureen is a doctor that has caused a bit of a stir in the way we look at Egyptian history, being the person who developed a theory that the Ancient Egyptians used wind power to build their pyramids, by tying kites to the stones and using the wind to pull them into place, as well as local naturally spherical rocks to get rid of the friction.

The speaker is without a doubt an intellectual, she knows her content thoroughly well, heck, she was the one who discovered it and wrote it. But she may not be able to level with her audience too well, she uses a lot of jargon, and perhaps I was not the intended audience, but I still felt left out of a few things, she mentioned some tools that were left unexplained throughout the speech, and was even asked what they were, and gave a description that felt a bit off topic, spiking my curiosity and not satisfying it.

She was clearly comfortable with her subject and due to that able to speak openly about it, not hiding behind anything, as she appeared to have full subject dominance, having no trouble with the content spoke on. However, there was the issue of not being able to communicate that properly to me at least, through the speech, and any questions throughout.

Hist 1700: Rough Draft – Value of Native Americans in European American Warfare

The Native Americans were of absolute importance to whichever side they joined during the colonial and post-revolutionary America. The indigenous people assisted in teaching the European American how to fight with hit and run tactics, more suitable to the American continent as well as how to plant and gather food in a manner that suited the land. During wars, such as the French-Indian War or the Revolutionary War, the American Indians were drafted to assist both sides of the wars for added numbers, learning new strategies of warfare as well as the layout of the land as applicable to army management and battle field warfare.

The early studies of the colonial American warfare suggested that though the Native Americans did take part in the wars, and did contribute to a new American way of warfare, however, they lacked to acknowledge how much of an influence Native American warfare had on the development of warfare on the American Continent. “More often European military institutions (…) proved to be insufficiently flexible to meet the challenges of the frontier”.[1]

The book “European and Native American Warfare” by Starkey Armstrong brings to light the presence and effect the Native Americans had on how warfare took its path, noting that in the states of Massachusetts, Connecticut and Virginia, where the militia was more present and effective, was also where there was the most involvement of recruiters (European Americans) and recruited (Native Americans).[2]

Most of the assumptions that Native American warfare contributed little or not at all, are due primarily to the descriptions of the earliest European explorers, being unfamiliar with how it took place, and unfamiliar with the quick tactics being used. It is only when others, less involved in the warfare themselves, take to investigating the warfare methodologies of the Natives that we are brought to the knowledge that it was not a ritualistic mass murder for no other reason than to “obtain manhood” or social status, but rather, raids out of necessity, with a general rule of only happening when out of necessity, also, without any record of any single catastrophic attack resulting in the death of most or all of a community. This confirms that they were aware of their own strategies, whether as well developed or not is beyond the point, and not simply acting on an animalistic impulse to kill, and can, be considered of real use to any willing to learn said strategies. [3]

Native American warfare is still considered crude, as they lacked infrastructure in their attacks or defenses, but be that as it may, it proved key in the European American warfare. The Natives had developed hit and run as well as ambush tactics to make up for their lack of structured attacks, as without this element, their internal warfare came down to attrition and the only relevant factor were numbers, causing large losses on either side. Not all European Americans did adopt these strategies, but any that did not adapt to them, had to react to them at the same level, being the difference between extreme loss and overwhelming victory, as evidenced by the militia in the French-Canadian war. [4]

The British are known as the primary user of Native’s numbers and help in their colonial conquests. This is evidenced by the numbers of some troops during their conquest of the Gaels in Ireland as well as the Native American Indians in America. The natives were used for counterinsurgency or as simple numbers when numbers were all that was necessary to intimidate the opponent. The colonists did have more experience with handling the division of power present in the native culture, taking advantage of it by using internal rivalries to add to their own forces, or by indirectly favoring one village with the expectation of help in close battles.[5]

Colonists managed to succeed in various crucial situations simple by the help of the numbers of the Native Americans, as evidenced by the Massacre of Pequots at Mystic (Connecticut) in 1637, where 90 Englishmen managed the victory backed by hundreds of Narragansetts and Mohegans.[6] Not only did these added numbers cause the victory, but in contrast, whenever the natives refused, which they often did if they felt the number of European American troops was not sufficient, English forces would not only not manage to take the victory, but would have to abandon the campaign altogether.[7]

Lastly, the Native Americans knowledge of the land was decisive in some battles, knowing the land, its hardships, shortcuts and where enemy troops would likely be placed is something only natives can know for certain, having been raised in the land. To exemplify, the Spanish were successful against the Incas and Aztecs with their armored horses, however, during battles taking place in Florida, where they were unfamiliar with the Swamps, they were no match to the Native American warfare, especially when combined with that of the European American as well.[8]

In conclusion, the Native Americans did indeed matter, to a great amount, in the warfare of the European American, and that can even be extended to say that without the indigenous people of the Americas, the European American would not have had a nearly as successful entry to the land, likely failing to get by during times of scarce food, or during any wars where the opposite side had the help of the Native Americans.

[1] Starkey Armstrong. “European and Native American Warfare” (London: UCL Press, 1998), 15.

[2] Wayne E. Lee, “Early American Ways of War: A New Reconnaissance”, Historical Journal 44, no. 1 (March 2001): 270.

[3] Ibid, 273.

[4] Ibid, 274.

[5] Wayne E. Lee, “Using the Natives against the Natives: Indigenes as ‘Counterinsurgents’ in the British Atlantic, 1500-1800”, Defense Studies 10, no. ½ (March 2010): 91.

[6] Alan Gallay, “The Indian Slave Trade the Rise of the English Empire in the American South, 1670–1717” (New Haven, CT: Yale UP, 2002): 84

[7] Wayne E. Lee, 91.

[8] Raymond Wilson, “Native American and European encounters in North America”, Journal Of American Ethnic History 16, no. 4 (Summer 1197): 89

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