What do you complain about the most?
I think I complain that I am not as good at writing fiction as he is. Actually, I love this new discovery that he likes to write short stories. He is really good at it.
This is a picture I gave him to write a story about. His story follows the picture.
No Fear
It’s thirteen feet from the ground to the top of my shoulders. I weigh about 14,000 pounds. I can easily uproot a tree twice my size. I can run faster than you might expect, reaching speeds of forty miles per hour. I am a massive beast who strikes fear into hearts and minds of all those I encounter. I should fear nothing.
It is a beautiful summer day. I had spent the night before in the relative safety of the jungle. I live a somewhat lonely life. A solitary existence apart from the herd of females and young ones I call family.
My brother and I were driven away from our family by the matriarch when we came into musk for the first time. We fled into the jungle. As young bulls it was far too dangerous to stay with the herd. The matriarch, my great grandmother, knew that. She knew adult bulls would come around when the females went into heat, and they won’t allow any competition. Especially from the younger, smaller bulls raised with the herd. The adult bulls that came around during mating season would fight for the right to mate and could easily kill a smaller bull seen as competition. Nana chased us away for our own protection.
As youngsters, my brother, Mombai, and I were taught where to find food and water. We were shown which plants were safe to eat and those that were not. Nana showed us where it was safe to rest, protected from predators such as lions and hyenas. She taught us to be aware of our surroundings and listen to the sounds of the jungle. Our oversized ears were perfect for picking up the faintest of sounds. The chirping of crickets, the croaking of frogs, even the footsteps of lions. The unique cracking of dried grass and underbrush when padded paws gently crept in search of prey. Mombai and I survived on the outskirts of our family. We quietly followed the herd but out of sight and smell. We thought the herd didn’t notice us but now and then Nana would trumpet. The message was clear. Stay away, you fools, you’re in danger. When Mombai and I heard her warning calls we immediately fled deeper into the jungle.
As time passed, Mombai and I grew in stature and confidence. We found ourselves needing the comfort of the herd less and relying on ourselves more. Mombai, as I recall, was somewhat larger than me. He had broad shoulders, an enormous belly, huge ears that, when extended, made him look twice as large, and a magnificent set of tusks. His tusks were close to fifteen feet long. Pure ivory that he cleaned and sharpened daily. Rubbing and thrashing them on smaller trees, turning them to pulp.
Mombai and I stayed together for several years, living as “bachelors in paradise.” Being solo, living alone as adult bulls never seemed to be an option, or even desired. We were happy and confident. Satisfied being two adult male African elephants, brothers, living in a protected national park in the heart of Africa. We could roam the entire park but stayed in the area we knew the best. We could wander out onto the open savanna and did so often when the grasses were tall and fresh. Eating tons of food each day when it was plentiful and traveling long distances to find food when it was scarce. Nana taught us well. We followed the same trails, used the same watering holes, and found food when it was hard to find, just as our herd had done for over a thousand years. During the mating seasons, Mombai and I would find females in heat from herds other than the herd we were born into. We often fought over females but never each other. Rival bulls would challenge us, but Mombai and I always fought as a team. Life was good.
It was during the rainy season that Mombai and my tandem existence was tragically brought to finality. I recall the incident vividly. We were grazing near the edge of a small thicket of trees. A lazy stream meandered across the savanna, pushing the tall grass out of its way as it traveled, like some hulking sumo champion thrusting his opponent out of the ring. It carved a path from the highlands in the north to the river at the southeast border of our park, gobbling up the recent rainfall as it flowed across the grassland. Growing larger and faster as it traveled, providing life sustaining water to countless species. The newly reinvigorated growth of fountain grass provided a soft, lush, brilliant green, carpet of sweet grass spreading across the open plains. Large clumps of elephant grass grew to nearly ten feet tall along the streams and the river. It was raining, not hard, but gently tumbling down from the clouds. The combination of wet grass and mid-day heat caused a steamy mist to rise up off the savanna and hang in the air close to the ground resembling an overweight cloud struggling to stay in the sky.
I was slowly crossing between the trees and the stream as Mombai stayed hidden in the thicket. Wrapping my trunk around the fountain grass I pulled up huge mouthfuls of grass seemingly with each step. Mud, insects, and whatever small creatures hiding in the grass went spraying in all directions as I raised my trunk high into the air and shook before shoving each bite into my gaping mouth. With plenty of food, water, and my closest companion nearby, life seemed ideal.
I felt as if nothing short of a great natural disaster would ever interrupt or even change my bold existence. No fear, invincible. In reality, I couldn’t have been more wrong. I don’t know if it was the plentiful season, the over confidence my size and stature brought, or just plain old stupidity that caused me to disregard the first and most important rule that Nana taught me. She lectured all the youngsters in the herd to never, ever let your guard down. Always be aware of your surroundings, and no matter how big and strong you get, there is always something that can hurt you. Whether it’s a pride of lions, a king cobra, a rhinoceros, or even just a thorn in your foot. Be watchful, especially when humans are nearby.
In my haste and rush to enjoy the fresh new grass and plentiful water, I made the worst mistake of my life. It was a lesson I shouldn’t have had to learn the hard way. I replay the scenario over and over in my mind every day. As I wandered between the thicket and the stream, enjoying every delicious clump of fountain grass that I managed to stuff into my mouth, I stepped into a poacher’s snare. It was a simple device, really, a doubled strand of barbed wire wrapped into a loop that tightens when pulled upon and never loosens. It was staked into the ground by a metal rod and tied around a large acacia tree. The entire device was covered in mud and hidden by grass. There were footprints in the grass all round about. Recent human footprints. The entire device would have been easily avoidable had I just been aware of my surroundings, as Nana had taught me.
The pain was immediate and searing. Cutting into the skin around my lower right leg just above the toenails. The barbs on the wire prevented the loop from slipping and the harder I pulled the tighter the strands cinched into my flesh. Mud and grass, dirt and rocks flew everywhere as I pulled and pulled on the wire. I was pulling and yanking as hard as I could, trying to free myself, but the device only tightened its grip upon my leg. I knew Mombai was nearby within the thicket of trees. Standing up on my hind legs, I raised my trunk as high as possible and trumpeted. It was a thunderous sound, louder and deeper than I ever thought possible. It seemed as if the ground shook in response to my cries of desperation. All the animals within a five-mile radius of my location scattered away in a fanlike pattern. That is all but two.
Instantly upon hearing my cries, Mombai raised a mighty trump of his own in response. He came to my aid running fast as he could. I turned as I heard his call and watched as he burst through the thicket, his ears spread wide as he shuttered his head from side to side. Splintering the small trees in his path, I could see his mighty tusks tossing the acacia pieces and huge mounds of dirt and grass aside as if they were feathers in his way.
The only other animal that heard my cries of desperation and didn’t flee was a lone poacher. Hiding along the stream in a large clump of elephant grass. He stood up only twenty yards away from me. He seemed small and insignificant, barely five and a half feet tall and thin, wearing camouflaged clothing that helped him blend into the surrounding grass. He was puny and weak, dirty, and smelled strangely. An animal not suited for the wilds of the savanna. He struggled to raise something that I had never seen before. It looked like a branch from a tree but perfectly straight, unnatural. It also had something shiny along the top. He pointed it at me and a sudden explosion of sound and smoke came bursting from the front of the object pointed at me. I felt a stinging in my left ear as something pierced the skin flap along the bottom of my ear. I spun around to face him, stood up on my hind legs, and spread my ears out as widely as I could. I thought if I looked fierce and menacing it could scare the poacher away. He dropped down on his knees and fumbled with his tree branch.
After a second or two he rose up onto his feet and pointed the object at me again. As he did so, Mombai charged directly at him. The poacher wheeled around and aimed his branch at Mombai. The explosion happened again just before Mombai reached him. With his head down dragging his trunk along the ground and raking his tusks through the dirt Mombai struck the poacher. The object he was aiming toward Mombai flew high into the air and landed several yards away. It landed nose down and stuck into the mud along the stream bed resembling a lone tree start stripped of its branches. The poacher lay lifeless on the ground, flattened into the mud by the enormous weight of Mombai’s head and shoulders. Mombai spun around facing me. I could see that he was badly injured. He stumbled as he ran toward me. I watched helplessly as Mombai slammed into the acacia tree that the snare was wrapped around. A loud crashing sound emanated from the area as the tree split into pieces and fell to the ground. As it did, the barbed wire snapped just feet from where I stood.
I was free again. Gathering my senses I ran to where Mombai laid on the ground. He was bleeding badly and not moving. Once again, I blew a great trump. This time the pain I was feeling was of a different sort. I stood over the body of my dear brother, killed by a poacher’s bullet. Mombai gave his life striving to save mine. I stayed by my brother’s side for the next few days, chasing away scavengers and hoping that he might stand again and spread those great ears. Nana came by with the rest of the herd once. Each one of them raised their trunks and sounded as they lovingly touched Mombai one last time in passing. All this pain and suffering over ivory tusks. Just teeth.
On the last day that I stood by Mombai, more humans came to the area. They were in a vehicle that stopped by the thicket. They got out of the vehicle and stared at me and the carcass of my brother. One of them had an object similar to the one the poacher had. He moved towards me and raised the object. I spun around, spread my ears, and in a rage stomped my feet and charged him. Once again, an explosion came from his object. I felt stinging in my left front leg. Almost instantly, I felt disoriented and weak. I turned and stumbled back to Mombai. I fell to my knees and placed my trunk across Mombai’s lifeless body. Blackness fell over me. I thought I had come to the same fate as my brother when all consciousness left me.
Suddenly, I awoke from unconsciousness. I struggled to regain my awareness. Slowly, I opened my eyes, and the light came pouring in. Turning my head in all directions, I sought out Mombai. He was nowhere to be seen. In fact, I didn’t even recognize my surroundings. This wasn’t where I last remembered. As I stumbled to my feet, all my senses returned to me. I was out in the middle of the savanna. There was a mixture of fresh and dried grass round about me. To my rear stood one lone acacia tree. I turned and wandered off in the direction of some large baobab trees in the distance.
Alone and hurting but not afraid. If my brother taught me anything, it was to show no fear.
ChatterLei 