The Maple Leaf

Author's Notes (READ): This was just something I wrote at midnight, while I was trying to sleep (but obviously, I couldn't). I'm sorry if there were a lot of vague historical references here and there, but I hope you get to see the true message and question behind my short fanfiction. Now, of course, I don't HATE the maple leaf. In fact, I think it's a lot better than the Red Ensign. I was just trying to write in the perspective of an Aboriginal when he/she noticed that their land was being negatively influenced by these Europeans. I hope you like it.

References: The Attawandaron was an aboriginal tribe that spoke Iroquois and lived near the Grand River, which is in South-Western Ontario (I live near there). They were called the Neutral Nation because they did not side with France or Europe during battles. I wanted to use them as a symbol of peace in relation to the Aboriginals, who did nothing wrong, and yet their land was stolen and their own people suffered.

Strolling I was, on the unpaved, earthen path that which crossed over the horizon where I could not see. Besides the path towards the left, blocked only by a short, wooden fence was the sparkling oasis which we called La Grande-Rivière. Two steps were taken until a red object moved downwards from the corner of my eye as I cocked my head, and so, by my natural instincts, I quickly turned towards the direction of that strange and ambiguous object. In this short time frame, I noticed that it fell silently onto the ground. It was a brilliant red maple leaf. It was like an autumn-coloured angel, with two wings on each side, and a head right at the very top, held high in a truly noble way. It was the symbol of my homeland, ma patrie. I remember the day when Pearson changed my cultural identity and symbol during '65. It was put on my flag to symbolize all who lived on my land... but did it really?

I looked to my right this time. I saw the usual park, and partially caught sight of two children, probably both less than the age of ten, just running out of my sight, disappearing behind a tall, furry evergreen tree. I looked to my left again, and saw that la rivière had not changed during the time I had looked away from its sparkling beauty.

"Of course it wouldn't..." I reasoned with myself. I was surprised to have even doubted that la rivière would change in the first place. However, there was something odd though... and my attempt to put a finger on the problem failed. It wasn't la rivière; it was something else.

My stomach churned. I did not feel well. Usually, I would walk along the side of la rivière with ease and simplicity. My walks were getting stiffer, and I felt deformed - not because of my appearance though, (as the word would suggest,) but rather, my consciousness at that point in time. From by and by, and to and to, I've almost forgotten that I was birthed here. I was originally part of the Attawandaron, who spoke Iroquois. Oh, I was so young too. It was the best of times, and everyone noticed me - we laughed, we played, and we were brothers and sisters.

That all changed when Françis came from the Old World.

We saw big floating wooden houses in the sea, with long trunks attached to white clouds, high in the sky. Apparently, they were called "ships". We thought they were our friends. They were at first, and it was the first time I have met Françis too. Our people and his traded goods. In fact, they almost treated us as equals.

Almost. Until another person came overseas, and attacked us and les français. Me and the Attawandaron stayed neutral and were called "the Neutral Nation" because of this. I thought it was the only valiant way to minimize damage.

It didn't minimize the damage. It only made things worse.

The other person who Françis fought against won. Blood and tears were the only thing I remember from that day... I felt ashamed that I couldn't remember anymore. It's hard though, because it was a day I never wanted to visualize, and also because it's just hard remember everything when you're already hundreds of years old.

Things flashed inside my mind. Images. Of a gun, the Attawandaron fleeing, and a putrid corpse lying dead on the muddy terrain.

What happened? I was a proud Iroquois, a proud boy. But then everything changed. Wars, disease, my people getting wiped out - and there was this thing called a flag that was supposed to represent me. It changed from my Iroquois relations, from the Red Ensign, to a simple maple leaf.

Yes, a maple leaf.

...

I violently shook my head. In front of my eyes was the same unpaved, earthen path that which crossed over the horizon where I could not see. I looked down and saw the red maple leaf, still in its pristine form and shape, right beside my shoes.

Suddenly, an enormous gust of wind suddenly blew through, and the maple leaf, with its long-spanned wings of an angel, flew away as blissfully as a ballerina on ice. I frantically tried to see where it disappeared into the sky, and saw a faint red dot delicately landed on the surface of the water of La Grande-Rivière. It was almost too hard to see the leaf, since I was blinded by la rivière's sparkling beauty - but oh, how it was there.

I sighed with relief. Should I have been relieved though? Was a maple leaf supposed to symbolize all who lived on my land?