Flash Fiction: The First Cave Painting, Maybe

Have teens been doing graffiti since time began?

Howl grinned as the chief’s daughter walked by. “Hi Ember. I’m going up to one of the caves. Wanna come?” he asked the lovely girl who’d stopped hanging out with him a year ago.

The stunningly beautiful young woman looked down her nose at him, sitting by the small fire making twine. “I can’t. I have to paint dad’s ceremonial mask,” she said and turned away.

He knew an excuse when he heard it. Especially from her. They’d been playmates their entire lives until last year. Now she only went exploring with senior hunters and only talked to him if she needed thread or twine and didn’t want to make it herself. His grin grew and said in a voice that would carry no further than her ears. “There are mushrooms there.”

Ember froze, turned and came back. Keeping her voice even quieter, she asked, “Which ones?”

He knew that look too. He dropped his voice even lower. “Exactly the ones you’re thinking about.”

Her eyes flashed about, noting who was watching. Then she bit her lip and whispered, “I’ll meet you at the washing creek.”

So, she didn’t want anyone to tell the senior hunters she had gone off with him, did she? No matter, if she went up there, after she had a few mushrooms, he would be exploring the cave he really wanted to visit. That was what really mattered. He dearly hoped no one else had found his stash.

“What about painting your father’s mask?” he mocked.

She grinned back. “Easy enough. I can take the mask and paints with me.”