The pregnancy was a challenge in both its inception and its implementation - fetal nations battling inside her. Then the birth, both a tribulation and a test of wills. Twins in name alone - it was as though a cuckoo bird had laid its egg in the nest of another. Childhood was merely a progressing escalation of the natal war on an ever expanding battlefield. With time, their parents were forced to take sides. Even the God seemed to favor one above the other.
One day, Coyote was crouched over the mesquite fire, stirring a pot of chili. A small child, he had spent more time with his mother than his father, and had learned the arts of the hearth and home. The pot bubbled, and the pungent aroma of the chilis followed the wisps of wind. Just then, following the enticing scent-trail, Red Dog approached his little brother.
Red Dog was a rugged outdoorsman, like his father whom he idolized. He had been out all night hunting, but returned to the tents empty-handed. Red Dog barked: "Runt! I'm starving to death! Give me a bowl of your chili."
Coyote grinned as he turned from the cooking-fire. "It'll cost you," he winked. "Admit that I'm the boss." Red Dog laughed as his stomach growled: "Sure, why not? What good is it if I die of hunger? Let me have a taste."
Coyote pulled back the bowl that he had been in the process of serving. "Pinkie-swear first that you'll do whatever I want!" Without ever sampling the food, driven by an overwhelming hunger, Red Dog would have done whatever it took to satisfy his craving and fill his empty stomach. The chili was delicious, and Red Dog was satisfied. For a while...
There is a war of wills here: an estranged father; a manipulative mother; two odd children; and the mysterious will of God. There is a morality-play being enacted here, and deep inside I too want to take sides. But how can I when all my choices seem to be so bad? Maybe I should just observe and learn? People have always been, and will always be, "human" - animal and spirit at once. There is a war of wills here.