The Forgotten Ones (Descriptive Essay on a place visited comparison to what I saw and what it has done to society in the area)

Essay by kareburrCollege, Undergraduate April 2005

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As I drove into Swan City a barren Indian Reservation, I came to realize how forgotten the Indians are. Indians are forgotten as fast as a car in the Indy races. I notice on the barren hillside stands a long-forgotten brick building that has given way to centuries of neglect. As I look around the building I feel as if I just entered into the movie Children of the Corn. Nothing moving but a cold breeze that passes through my soul leaving a feeling of sorrow. I see again the neglect in this building as I see in the native tribe of Swan City. Fragments of its once stately red brick walls litter the tall swaying grass that is connected to a thin, man made path that calls you to its grand doors. A spire that once stood tall atop a tower now lies upon a heap of rubble.

Windows that once gleamed in the sun are darkened with grime. Winged creatures of the night fly through the broken windowpanes. The storage room is dank and musty; gone are the dry foods. Gone are the people who prayed in the chapel; gone is the grandeur of former years. Gone are the proud people but remains a ruined person.

So, too, can be the life of a person suffering from severe depression. Often the person is sent into seclusion, letting time and the world pass. Hiding the dark recesses of the mind, the victim of depression cringes, hoping others will pass on by, paying no heed to the ones that dwells within. Little by little, parts of the person are lost in the rubble of distress. Slowly, bit by bit, the self seems to be less and less as an Indian tribe has disappeared into the days of yesterday. No...