🦁 The Lion 🦁

         I lived in a cage all my life, or at least it seems like it. In this prison, there are two other lions with me. These other lions have a name, however, I don’t care to say them. They always pretend they are my parents. My birth parents are still out there, in the savanna… at least that I know of.

                        I have this memory that keeps popping up in my dreams, intruding on the good ones. This dream is the earliest memory I have; when I got captured and thrown into this cage.

                        “Are you sure we should go out tonight? I know we need food, but I heard there are hunters around,” Father asked.

                        “Our son, our cub, is starving. Do you expect him to die of hunger?” My mother growled.

                        “Alright, you risk it then. I will go to the cave with him and protect him if our hideout is found,” father said.

                        Without another word, my Mom left us to go hunt. I cuddled with Dad, shivering in the icy wind.

                        “Get up, son, let’s move somewhere warmer,” Dad said.

                        He led me to our nearby cave, at the side of the mountain in the savanna. The cave was quiet; the bugs that usually cover the walls aren’t present. Unseen smells of rotting bones from long gone meals floated in the air, the calming sound of water from the grove in the back of this cave could be heard.

                        Most lions in this area travel in packs, and when you saw us,, you would think that we would be with other lions; especially since we live in such a magnificent cave.

                        Well, if you think that, you are wrong. I don’t know what happened; Mom and Dad won’t talk about it. Them and a friend were banished from the pack, so we settled here. My parent’s friends live in a cave connected to this one. We all drink the water in the grove and hunt in the warm sun. Today, however, we didn’t hunt during daylight because there was a pack of Lions passing through the area; the pack that had banished us. We would be killed if they saw us.

                        Once we got into the cave, all sound stopped—the water movement from the grove, the birds outside, even all breathing. My Father tensed.

It was like a beehive when the bees start swarming you after you disturbed their hive. The hive becomes quiet, then suddenly the bees start swarming you. Except this time, it was more than a bee sting.

We heard courageous roars from Mother, however, they turned into wounded ones after a minute. Then there were gunshots.

“This way!” a man’s voice shouted.

The sound of heavy boots stamping the earth could be heard, along with the panting from Mother.

“Stay here, son. Don’t make a sound, and remember, never trust man,” and he was off running after the hunters that presumably attacked mother.

The next thing I remember, I see Dad running out of the forest that concealed the cave, and I’m running after him.

Once we got out, Dad fought off the hunters, distracting them from Mom. I ran up to her and licked her wounds clean as we watched Dad’s brutal fight.

It was horrible. Father was only able to land an attack on them a few times. He was in a defensive mode now. He kept dodging their nets, bullets, the butt of their guns. He’s not going to last very much longer.

“Go!” He shouted. On the outside, he seems brave, however, his eyes showed the truth.

Mom tried to stand up, but one of her paws were broken, and she fell ungracefully back onto the dying, bloody grass.

“I can’t leave her!” I shouted. 

Dad spared a moment to look at me, he was about to yell something when the final shot had landed in his shoulder. The force from the bullet threw him back into the forest.

My shock paralyzed me, I wanted to scream his name, call for any answer that may or may not come, but I couldn’t. All that came out was lost breath.

Hearing the air from my failed scream, the hunters came toward me, swinging their nets, ready to use it.

“Son,” Mother gasped. “When you escape your imprisonment, find us along the horizon,”

As the net closed in on me, I looked to where Father had fallen. His eyes glowed in the bush, he had wrinkles on his face, it said it all. Although, at that moment, I didn’t understand what it meant.

That’s the past I keep reliving every night in this cage. Every time I see the hunters look at us through the bars, I think, “They have no idea what happens to these animals who are trapped in this so-called ‘Zoo,’ thanks to them. They will never know or care what happened to us.” This is what led me to escape, to find my parents in the horizon, to be happy once again. 

I decided to do it at night, during feeding time. I told my cage-mates, or my adoptive parents as they call themselves, my plan. Of course, they objected to my going; they said they enjoyed it here, so I should too. I just meowed in their faces -which is the most offensive thing you could do- and went to sulk in a corner.

So what if I’m going alone? I will be fine; I was alone all my life here, I can be alone for a bit longer.

When the zookeeper came inside to feed us, I shouted, “Let me out!”

He took a step back, no expression on his face, and dropped the food on the ground. He then started leaving.

My heart fell the length of a cliff for a second, seeing my only chance of escape walking away. After a second of this, I shoved my heart back up to where it belonged, then rushed my legs forward and backward rapidly. When I got close, I pushed myself off the ground and landed on top of the zookeeper. As he screamed and fell, I bit his arm to keep him from escaping and telling others.

Prancing off him, I walked out of the door he came in, which was difficult because I was much bigger than the door. Damaging the door frame, I wiggled my way through. Before I completely left, I looked back once more at my cell-mates, they were shaking their heads in shame.

This new room had freezers, refrigerators, an oven, and to the right was a door. The door burst open, and five zookeepers came inside. One zookeeper fed the monkeys, apes, and chimpanzees. Another one, the one getting meat from the fridge, was in charge of the pandas and bears. I recognized the third one, the one with the net, as the zookeeper of the fish. I don’t know who the other two were, however they looked strong.

Roaring, I ran full speed at the strong-looking zookeepers, who were guarding the door.

“Woah! Settle down boy, It’s going to be alright,” the one to the left shouted, trying to grab my mane.

With my right paw, I knocked down one of the guards, then charged at the one who tried to calm my rage. She moved out of the way, letting me through the door.

Running out of the lion area, I came into the monkey area. I have no idea where I’m going, I’ve never been out of the cage before, except for doctor’s visits, but even then, they only let me in the room with all the food. I do, however, know something. I had reason to believe that this way is the exit. Every night at sundown, including tonight, a voice comes on the loudspeaker telling the visitors the zoo is closing for the day, and everyone goes this way.

I loathe that voice, but at the same time, cherish it. I faintly recognize it from my dreams, my only memory. Why do I cherish it? Because it takes the prying eyes away. I was forced to take a few turns, the maps on the corners of the human walkways guiding my way.

A few times, I heard footsteps behind me. It wasn’t until I got to the front gates did they catch up to me. Or, more accurately, I caught up to them.

They were waiting at the entrance, and there were about twenty zookeepers. Gathering speed, I leaped over them all, climbed the gate wall, and out of the zoo.

For the next few days, I traveled south toward the Savannah, the hunters on my heels. I never really thought about how far or how long it’ll take to get to my destination; I’ve lost count of the miles on week two.

When I got to cities or even small towns, I was forced to go around them, some were surrounded by water, and I was forced to stow away on a boat. When the boat docked, people finally realized I was on the boat. The rest of the day was spent running from the hunters.

                        Whenever I could, I would go around civilization and through forests. All these detours were just taking so much time, that by month three, I was done. I took the day to sit down and sulk in despair, thinking I’d never make it. The next day I felt the best I’ve felt in years; I’ve only felt this good when I still lived with my birth parents.

                        Rain was always a pain, for my food would be underground or in some other sort of shelter. It would also get very muddy, so I had to stomp out of the forest, starving to death. I think I’m traveling in the rainy months, lousy timing.

                        After eleven months, to my greatest joy, I’ve finally made it. The hunters were not chasing me anymore, and I was home.

                        It seems hotter than I remember, sadder and quieter too. I walked around, going to the last place I remember—the home of my memory. When I got to it, no one was there. Of course, I didn’t expect anyone to be there, but my hopes did die a little.

                        I searched around the site, looking for any traces of where my parents might’ve gone. I found nothing.

                        That night I slept in the cave of my childhood. Once I laid down, I noticed a hurried-looking paw print near the entrance, looks like I didn’t look enough earlier. It’s like no time has passed.

                        I ignored my roaring stomach, not wanting to repeat the night of my nightmares.

                        At around midnight, I awoke to a sloping sound. I sat up, pricked my ears up, making no sound. Difficult as it was, I managed to find where whatever it was coming from. They were coming from the back of the cave.

                        “Who’s there?” I growled.

                        “Are you the cub who was captured by hunters?” A female voice asked.

                        “Yeah, why?” I demanded.

                        The female lion stepped into the moonlight. “I’m not supposed to know this, but…” she paused, taking a deep breath. “I’m your sister.”

                        It took a second for it to sink in. “My father’s alive? What about Mom?” I asked.

                        Looking at her face, I knew what she was going to say before she said it. “It’s complicated. Your mom’s friend, my Mom, heard all the roaring and went over to investigate. She saw you get caught, and the hunters killed your mother. She saw your father wounded and went over to help. She helped him the best she could, however, he bled too much. Your father’s last words were, “If my son comes back, you take care of him; you’re his only family.”

                “How can I trust you?” I asked.

                “What do you mean?” she wondered.

                It took me a minute to respond, fire rising inside me. “Fine! Be that way! I’m fine on my own!” I roared, then left the cave.

                How, what happened? I thought I’d come to a happy, cuddly home with both my parents. I did know my Mother would be gone, but I wasn’t sure. Should I go to the horizon to find them? Will they be there? I ran as fast as I could, toward the setting sun, my so-called sister running after me.

                “Stop! It’s the truth!” she shouted.

                This went on for an hour, until I collapsed. My sister came up to me, with a dead antelope in her jaw. She set it down next to me, it was gone in a minute.

                “Thanks,” I replied.

                “No problem. I found that when I’m full, I can think straight,” she said.

                “Yeah, sorry for running off like that,” I said.

                “It’s no big deal. It was my fault for not feeding you first, or at least warning you before I talked about it,” she said.

                That night, we went back into the cave, and I slept there. She went back to her mother, in the grove area. In the morning my new sister introduced me to her mother. They took me into the grove, let me drink, and bathe.

                Over the months that followed, I either sulked in dark places wondering what I was going to do, helped hunt for dinner, or hung out with my new family. Since I was never properly trained how to hunt, they helped train me.

                After a year of feeling sorry for myself, I finally snapped out of it. Then came the burning question, “Should I go back to the other lions? Will I be accepted into their pack?”

                The answer was yes, they let me back into the pack. By then I finally accepted what happened, and every sunset thought of my parents. They never left me, I know it in my heart.