Flash Fiction - End of the World
Our children have left us for the cities. We Nenets have migrated across Yamal Peninsula for generations. We take care to not disturb the beings that live around us. Yamal means End of the World . All the way to Kara Sea there are low shrubs and wind-stripped birches. There are bogs, lichen, howling winds, reindeer, and us. We move north in summer so our reindeer can graze on fresh pastures. We return south when the Ob River freezes over. I have given birth to three sons; one died an infant and two went to the city. Once they were no longer afraid of the Communists, our children gave up herding reindeer for what they called civilization. They went to universities to learn other words than those we taught them. They speak Russian and no longer regard the spirits. My sons think I am simple because I follow reindeer with my sledge. I know other words, city words. I have no use for them. Cities have terrible stories. Our Nenets children are bewitched by bright lights...