Wind From An Enemy Sky: A Short Story

Of the twenty-five children in the class, there was only one student who wasn’t, as the others said, “like the rest of us”. I knew exactly what that meant, but I didn’t care. She was a nice girl, and, to me, that was all that mattered. But, the other kids didn’t see it the way I did. They blamed her for things she clearly didn’t do, and they did so solely because her skin was darker and she saw things a little bit differently. That’s the world I lived in. The biggest thing, though, is that no one listened to what she had to say. Seriously, no one batted an eye. And frankly, she introduced me to a lot of things. She liked books, and she read more than anyone I had ever met. She loved TV shows and hanging out with friends. It wasn’t like she

I just wish that people would have listened to what she had to say. That time has passed, though. She left the school because she couldn’t deal with it anymore. She couldn’t deal with the discrimination, the pain that was brought upon her because of her upbringing, her family’s upbringing. She was torn from her own home. She left, because when your voice isn’t heard, you should go somewhere it will be.

In Wind from an Enemy Sky, by D’Arcy McNickle, the theme of ignorance is exemplified by a multitude of different characters, but most namely Adam Pell. The story of Adam Pell is one that is lopsided, as he is initially introduced as a sympathetic character, one who may be of assistance to the people of Little Elk. For instance, when Pell learns from Pock Face that the Native peoples saw the construction of the dam as murder to Nature, it is expressed, “Adam Pell had not recovered from the shock of discovering that in some remote way - unbelievable, except that it happened - he had contributed to his nephew’s death. ‘That bullet was meant for me, the boy just happened to be there,” his mind kept saying. He avoided looking at his sister” (McNickle 171). In this

And the turtle never swims away” (King 121). This line struck a particular chord within myself because, like most powerful sayings, it made me think. This story, the one about the turtle carrying the earth on its back, seems so peculiar and simple that it couldn’t be changed. Yet, in some profound way, the story changes. The only thing that remains is the fact that the turtle still had the earth on its back. So, as I said, this made me think; why is that many of stories, ones in which we pride themselves on, change? And, more importantly, why does that change always seem to reflect us in a more positive light? One example, that came to mind right away, was about Abraham Lincoln. Growing up, I was taught to see President Lincoln in a light like no other; many had told me, albeit opinionated, that he was the greatest president ever and that he freed America, ending the Civil War and thus helping to abolish slavery. Although, in American Studies this year, we read segments of one of Lincoln’s speeches: “What next? Free them, and make them politically and socially, our equals? My own feelings will not admit of this; and if mine would, we well know that those of the great mass of white people will not” (Lincoln). In Peoria, Illinois, 1854, our own president said to the crowd that he wouldn’t free the slaves and