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Two Old Women: Book Review

One day, I was browsing the bookshelves of my local library looking for something interesting to read. There’s one particular shelf in an adult section of the library that I like to browse all the time, and it’s one that has books of myth, folklore, and fairytales . I eventually found a book that I had never heard of or read before; Two Old Women . Two Old Women is a book written by Velma Wallis . It is an Alaskan legend of the Gwich’in people that Wallis’s mother told her after they had finished collecting firewood (p. xi). According to Wallis, her mother had told her this story because of an earlier conversation they had while collecting firewood (p. X.) Wallis was amazed by the fact that her mother still collected her own firewood despite being in her early fifties, and despite the work being physically difficult for her (p. xii) According to Wallis, the elders amongst her people would work until they couldn’t move or until they died (p. xii). After talking about these things, her ...
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Venatus and the Indoor Prison IV

 

Venatus landed on a dead mouse that the cat had left by the balcony door. Other flies came. Venatus listened carefully to the songs of the birds, the chirping of the crickets, and the cawing of crows, and soon the buzzing of flies as they came to the meal. He basked in the warmth of the sun’s rays.

It was beautiful.

The door opened. The man, with a plastic bag in his hand, stepped out to get the mouse. The flies flew in all different directions. Some flew away towards the forest, others tried to land back onto the mouse before he could carry it off, but some other flies had other ideas.

“Let’s go inside,” a fly said to his two friends. “I bet they have some good stuff in there!”

“No!” Venatus said. “The humans will—”

The flies flew in, and the human disappeared back into the house with the dead mouse in a plastic bag.

“Ugh, not more flies!” he heard the girl cry, and he saw a flash of the red fly swatter.

An image of Buster flashed into his mind. Venatus shook his head and flew to the garden, landing on a sunflower. Caw, caw, the crows went. He didn’t want to think about what would happen to those flies, or about what had happened to Buster. Instead, he observed the sunflower, and, for the first time, enjoyed the cawing of crows.

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