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A Battle
by Glenn A. Bell


December 28, 2004

Here's a story I wrote in 1988. I have retyped it in the way it was written in 1988. I have had a battle with alcohol in the past now have been sober for 5 wonderful years, thanks to Jesus Christ walking by my side.

This story is not meant to be racial towards anyone or any race, it was a battle I was having on the inside with myself. Please feel free to pass this on.

"Troubled Race"
written by:
Glenn A. Bell
January 28, 1988

Staring off into outer regions, as the rain and wind smash against the window to the motel room. Inside the room is an old Indian chief from the old rainbow days of the brother of the spirit.

Sitting there this old, wrinkled but strong man is remembering times past when he was young and a brave warrior, fighting white men, killing enemy natives. All this racing through the wrinkled mans head.

The most terrible fight he had in his life was with the most common killer amongst the native people "Alcohol" He lost his family to this horrible poison along with many friends.

It all started when the white men came to his village in search of native goods to bargain for. Jewelry, blankets, animal skins, and sometimes in search of native women. Trading all of these items for what? A liquid the white men call "booze" but the Indians have another name for this liquid "Hades water" or "Fire Water" the burning feeling it leaves in your mouth and the fiery lake it leaves pooling in your stomach.

This water was so addictive to the native people and especially to the chief, he had more power and could get more "Fire water". This noble leader even killed a fellow native for dropping a bottle and shattering the container.

He was so over taken and obsessed with this water he demanded more, and more, and more.

This village at one time was the wealthiest in the western plains states, as soon as the chief began his booze and drinking spree the wealth of the village began to tumble like a mud slide.

He did not care about the economy only his booze, other native villagers began to see the village crumble and would sneak off during the night and never return, some villagers would even kill themselves rather than to see the village and all of it's people perish.

The village eventually got down to only the chief and his family, the booze was consumed by the gallons.

One day some traders came to the village to trade goods, but all the goods had been traded away to the previous white men, then the hazing booze took over the chief's mind and he traded his family for a case of booze.

He engulfed the entire case in two days, as the last drop from the last bottle touched his lips, he slipped into a coma. As he woke in a cold and chilling sweat, the rain was thrashing against the window to the motel room.

As he sat there staring out the window he quietly asked himself, "Where are all of my people, where is my family?" A voice from deep within his spirit cries to him, "You destroyed all of them with your obsession for the white man's drink.

After he hear's the crying voice, he slips into eternity as the .30-.30 round makes a shattering blast of thunder in the stillness of his room.

Once again this is not meant to racial towards any race or person, it was a battle I was having inside my soul. Please e-mail with comments, but please no nasty e-mails.

If you are having a battle with alcohol in your life, please, please ask for help - that's where the healing begins, you can email me also.

Love in Christ Jesus,

Glenn A. Bell
Attalla, AL - USA



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