The Book of Sarah

Hello? Hello? Can you see me? Can you hear me? It's Edith. I'm the one they call the Pow Wow Woman. Shit, you'd think after two months of living together and being in each others business they'd refer to me by my name a little more often. I know they do sometimes, but between you and me, I'm Edith. Call me Edith. Enough with that Pow Wow crap. It's stupid. It don't make no sense. It's like if I was talking about the Pope and I said - The Big Chief Catholic Boss instead. OK? Are we good? You got it? But, hey, who the hell is typing this? I ain't got no God damned computer. I ain't even got a good toaster-over, so it sure as hell can't be me. But yet I am positive somebody is tapping it all out. It's like some disembodied spirit is letting its fingers (if it has fingers) dance over a giant, universal keyboard and tattooing this story right onto the actual skin of your brains. But we're all here now. We're all deep, deep into the Pines. Regular folks would hardly think there'd be places like this stuck down between all that Philadelphia and New York nonsense. But we been here as long as they have. And some of them as lives in the Pines have been planted out here a lot longer. I'm teaching the 'blood folks,' the vampires all about them. I'm learnin' them about The Red Paint People. That's what all them scientific egg heads call 'em. Listen how I talk when I get back home, as if I ain't knowed the difference. Well, I know the difference. But this way's more comfortable on my mouth. And if you want to know the truth, for my brain too. Who are The Red Paint People? Just people. Just old people. Not them. I am speaking about their culture. How old is it? Real old. From back before all them 'henges.' You know, Stonehenge, artificial brick henge, asbestos siding henge... all of 'em. It's older than the Barrow Builders. For folks who ain't got no old culture smarts, them was folks who piled up humongous hills of dirt, like mud pies for the biggest Godzillas you ever saw. And they burried all their boss-men in 'em. Some say they are the great grandfathers of the henge builders. But The Red Paint folks are older than that.. Some say they go back more than seven thousand years, because they've been dancin' around over here for at least that long. And they did not trek over from Siberia, you know, near Sarah Palin's house? They cruised over from Europe, but this was way before Rick Steves discovered it and it got all fancified. A group of science guys found a few specks of dried up ocher colored paint on some of the trash in their old garbage dumps. That's how they got the name. Funny thing is they don't hardly care what a bunch of fast talkin' folks with too much school stickin' to 'em calls 'em. You wanna know what they look like? What do you think!? Like God damned teletubbies, you ass holes! No they don't. I'm sorry. I realize you do not know too much about our ways and we are not Red Paint folks. We just happen to live right by 'em. One of 'em I'm a little bit friendly with seems  to favor Captain Jean-Luc Picard, you know, of the starship Enterprize? And his lady friend sorta looks like a skinnier Peek-a-boo Street, that  world famous Olympic skier woman? Just gimme a little time. You'll meet 'em.