The Only Good Indians

by Stephen Graham Jones

When the whole world hurts, you bite it, don’t you?

But there were no horses that day. Only elk.

But hooves aren’t always enough. You can bite and tear with your teeth if it comes to that.

You snap your teeth back at them, watch them roil with spit-flecked rage, writhe with desire they want you so bad, want you gone even worse.

For them, ten years ago, that’s another lifetime.

For you it’s yesterday.

Names are stupid, though. Pretty soon he won’t even need his.

At the end of a game or the beginning, it doesn’t matter, it’s never the fastest or the strongest player who gets that rolling-away ball. It’s whatever girl dives the hardest. Whoever fights for it. Whoever doesn’t let anybody take it away. Whoever doesn’t care about their precious hair or skin or teeth. It’s all about whoever wants it the worst.