The clouds stretched across the sky and they looked so fake yet somehow they were real. That day, I wasn't feeling anything in particular perhaps, I was having mood swings. The darkness tends to cause some sort of sadness within myself and today there was no sun. No sun, just clouds that stretched all the way to China and back. They made me feel like a little person but I remembered that, <em>it's a small world</em>. Nobody was thinking of me at that moment yet I wasn't thinking about anyone either. I felt common, not rare, just common. It seemed that nothing I could do would ever make a change in this world we call home. A song was replaying in my head the lyrics waning in crescendo, "Roses are red, violets are blue, my heart is dead, i'm such a fool." What more could I need to feel so lost within my thoughts than being alone with them. I looked up at the roof which extended far, almost too far reminding me of why I chose to live in a mansion. Well, actually I'm not sure why I chose to live in a mansion by myself. As I thought to myself, I only conjured sad thoughts. I felt like crying but only then I would be feeling bad for myself. <em>Rich people aren't supposed to be sad? Not like this aren't they? </em>I wanted to believe that, be like them, everybody else but it was something that I couldn't be. Rich was just a word but It can't describe how I felt. It just described who I was in an aspect of wealth. All alone, I sat in my chair rocking back and forth looking through the isolated and strangely large circular window. Clouds among clouds among more clouds stretching a seemingly endless route. I wish I was up there so I could feel the weightlessness that I so longlessly dreamed about. The weightlessness that brought no sadness, stress, or struggles. Down here I was merely a weight on the world, being of no use to anyone or anything, maybe even a diamond in the rough but if my uniqueness showed then maybe I would actually have potential. Still, that sounded very unlikely. I couldn't honor my myself but the weightlessness of the clouds could. Above those clouds only then would I see the sun once again. How happy would I be? Eternally happy. Only the clouds could make me happy because they looked so fake yet they were real<em> just like myself. </em>
James Fenimore Cooper's "The Last of the Mohicans" is a historical story about the Mohicans, especially the Iroquois Indians, and the battles they fought to try to keep their freedom. The story has also been adapted into a movie, directed by Michael Mann.
Hawkeye is the story's main hero, real name Natty Bumppo. He would help scout the land, and he is familiar with the land and its areas. Though affiliated and helped out the Indians more, he is a culturally mixed individual. And he carries a rifle named <em>"Killdeer"</em> which gave him the nickname "La Longue Carabine" which roughly translates to "The Long Carbine".