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Prosecutor · 08-16-2010, 10:47 PM,

Additional information:

Name..............Nicolas Stockbridge - The Mohican
Height............190cm.
Weight............80kg.
Hair Color.......Black
Eye Color........Black

On the 21-st floor of hotel on planet Manhattan, little dizzy from insomnia and his long journey,
with flashbacks going through his mind, Dr. Nicholas felt that he wasn't alone in his room.
Emptiness and dark were intercepted only by lights from advertisements on surrounding buildings.
- 'Nice' ' Nicholas thought ' 'no one here, they will never find me.'
- 'You really think so?' ' Veta whispered from half-darkness, filled with fading Indian images of his forebears'¦He recognized one of them,its was his grandfather Nanaquiba. He was sitting on his bed, trying to hide his strong cough from Little Chief. Little Chief, that's how he called little boy,while he fondled him, going through his long black hair with his old hand.
With his eyes shut, Dr. Nicholas has again seen himself as a 3-year old boy, walking alongside his grandfather, carefully avoiding the flowers that was left on the planet by his legendary grandfather.
- 'That was long time ago'-*Dr.Nicholas sighs*-'And they cought me on this far side of the world'
- 'Because we couldn't find you' ' Nanaquiba whispered to shaken Nicholas.
- 'What he meant by that?'-Nicholas wondered.
From the times of their deaths and this night on Manhattan, ages have passed, and half of Sirius came between them.
- 'I thought they forgot about me by now'- Nicholas whispered, unaware that the ways of the dead are inconceivable just like the ways of the Great Manitu.
He felt a cold chill sliding down his spine.
- 'Return to your graves and leave me alone!!!''¦.He turned around and choaked when he saw his sister's shadow appearing behind the curtains at the window.
- 'Have you forgot that WE don't have graves? WE never had them!!!'
Oh Great Manitu, for how long are they gonna follow him and remind him that they have no place to go? And they don't'¦.
But HE cant be responsible for all the Indians in this damn world!!!
- 'You really think that?'- said one of the vague and weak voices coming from the shadows'¦'We exist only through YOU!'
-' Well, you really pickeight man!' ' Nicholas lay down on his bed and covered his head with the pillow, and silence filled the room.
If he pretends long enough that he can't see or hear them, the voices and shadows will fade away...
He just hoped that his escape wasn't in vain and that they won't find him on the other side of the universe. Nicholas was confused while Indian fates were passing through his memories faster then even before, like some reminder that lives of ancestors are connected to their living offsprings'¦they never stop coming'¦they last forever.
-'In which memory will I last?'-he asked, while he stared at the lights of advertisements. In the next few days he will need to decide if he is leaving Liberty.
If there is 'forever'? Is everything happening to him a coincidence: love, hate, life'¦death? Is his whole life just a repetition of something that happened to some
Indian who entered the dream in dark forests of America, and came out looking at mighty waters of Great Lakes. And there on the lakeshore, he built his home,first in America, not knowing that he built it on the bottom of long-gone sea with all its monsters, preserving only its name.
Suddenly, Nicholas shivered:is that darkness from american forests waking up in him again or the constant migrations are an Indian curse'¦Can they settle down in one place where they can live in peace, without wars and violence?
- 'And wars come all the time'¦and you never see the end of them!' ' said one of the editors in 'Indian Chronicle', deliberatly not telling the names of sides in war,nor the duration of conflict'¦ disbelief in Nicholas's mind about any posibility that this conflict will ever end was stronger then ever before.
Ever-lasting peace wasonly a wish'¦.war is knocking on his door!
A happier world this 'Whisperer from Manitu's dream' ' as this editor form 'Indian Chronicle' likes to call himself ' cant see or feel, nor does he believe it exists!

While the shadows of indians were disappearing, yet only real in Nicolas's memories,and on cracked pages of "Indian Chronicles" , discovered in a gloomy shop of books.
In gratitude to Nicolas by his grandfather,Nanaquiba who saved his life, it gave him an older man and disappeared.
Whether he knew that his grandfather ,Nanaquiba no long-remains a secret,such as the secret name of the grantor.
For many years wandering , "Indian Chronicle" came into the hands of many Indians and, in some parts into a "log", somewhere certain Indians by sliding sequence family tree were trying to return the time, convinced that the fate of their generation to generation is not continued, but repeated, as someone's cruel Hall that man's life is as meaningful as he himself, while not forgetting who he was.

-Then the picture changes

Chilly day and a whirlpool of rotten leaves spin in the wind ... From which the living memory is the first signs that autumn is coming to it, to enjoy the surprised view the dark-haired girl's cheek pressed against the tree.
Who is she talking with, going from tree to tree, surrounded by shade barred under the sky, on the track without single living soul ?
Dark-Haired approached with the question of who is he who seeks, what is'
Her response to seek tree that has captured her soul made it funny for a moment, then scary.
No, not just a soul, but even a name.The girl smiled pityingly explaining herself that because she wanders nameless.

That's why, that's why.

Because, until she finds out her name, she's the same as on the track or stone flakes that the first sign of sun
turn into drop of water, or something more unmean, nameless.

-Someone surely knows your name ... Nicolas has spoken
-You think? The Girl attributed to tougher line with the tree.
-If they knew, they wouldn't call me Rose Spill.
-Maybe that's is your real name ...
-She turned the back to him.
-Hidden in the trunk of a tree is the key that could free my soul, just a I do not know where that tree
and the key ...

Rose Spill is not my name -whispers mysteriously.

No, it's not .. it's not.

A cold chill went down his spine. He knew: when he stands up, a puddle of sweat,and glimps from his life will continue to slide with changing beams of light.
- There's always a way out - he told to himself.
Heaven or Hell, it doesn't matter. Heaven gives you sweet memories...Hell - a thin piece of oblivion.
In half dark of a hotel room, he felt like there were moments where he would gladly choose the later.
Because, people last in the memories of others who once knew them.
And what if that memory fades away and the one who knew them becomes something that forgets who it was,
disapears into oblivion, becomes Rose Spill...a torn apart and lost Rose Spill.Just arrived from hell and scaterred around Sirius his compatriots embrace the oblivion.
And they forget...rejected and exiled, with shame and sorrow they accept to be just plain numbers,unaware that by doing just that they open new chapters of lies and deceits in the worst of all wars.
A war that emerged from centuries of unsettled scores and unburried dead. A war that everyone knew it was coming.
"Remember and leave the world that isnt yours!" - it remained written on 69. page of Indian Chronicle.
"Where to go...and which world is yours?" - it was added on the side, writen in some bad handwriting.
Who?

to be continued

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