Burying Yourself
sacred ground
A new voice on here. Check him out. Jared Strong: Robert Knuth knelt in the soggy red earth and thrust his hands into the ground.
There, on a bluff that overlooks Bear Creek in southern Dallas County, the wind whistled through the trees. The water gurgled in the stream below.
He chose this bend in the creek where he used to play as a child because its current runs fast. He hoped it would quickly wash away the demons of anger, sadness and anguish that had plagued his 40 years.
The moist clay squished between his fingers as he dug deeper. And deeper still.
Demons like these aren't easy to get rid of.
That was one month ago.
On that bluff, Knuth buried his former self: the American Indian infant taken from his drunken mother and given to white parents; the adolescent taunted for being stupid; and the man who drank a case of beer each day to forget.
He marked the place with a wooden cross, prayed and walked away.
The letter from two developers arrived the next day.
The men wanted to flood the area with a massive series of lakes that would blanket more than 4,000 acres. They hoped to carve about 5,000 residential lots into the surrounding area.
One lot would lie on top of the spot where Knuth buried himself.
This, he thought, was no coincidence. After decades of wandering, Knuth had found his purpose.
He must stop them.