“Run away, Simba. Run away, and never return.”
His uncle’s bizarrely sympathetic words rang through his head, as Simba ran through the dusty gorge. His breathing was short and frantic, peppered with sobs as further tears leaked out of his brownish-red eyes. He wanted to just curl up into a ball and weep, or return to his father and sink into the surely still-warm pelt. But he couldn’t. Not when it was his fault.
He daren’t go back to Pride Rock. Uncle Scar was right; what would his mother think? Possibly, she would comfort him and hold him close, but before long she would find out. She would never give him that warm, gentle smile again. It would morph into a look of harrowing disappointment and shame, mingled with the grief of losing her husband.
His father.
Dad…I’m sorry. He didn’t know where the time to think came from, as he pressed his aching, sorrowful body into running, but he had to keep going. This was his punishment. If only he hadn’t tried to roar at that lizard, or if he had run to the side of the wildebeest instead of attempting to outrun them…he’d still be here.
“If it weren’t for you, he’d still be alive…”
He saw his father again, falling with an awful roar of terror and flailing his legs, trying to latch onto something, anything, but soon vanishing into the stampede. It nearly ripped Simba apart, but he had to keep going. He could now hear snarls from behind, and they were growing steadily louder. Fear began to set in, alongside the shock of what had happened to his father, which in itself was ebbing away to the grief. He would never hear his father’s voice again.
He would never spend evenings playing with him.
He would never see the look of pride on his father’s face, as he pounced on Zazu, accompanied by that booming laugh.
But, most importantly, he would never be able to tell him just how much he meant to him.
As the dust cleared momentarily, Simba could see that he had run out of gorge, and a flat wall of rock was in front. Eyes wide, he turned around. The three hyenas from the elephant graveyard had followed him. Maybe they were going to make him pay for what had happened then? Or maybe the Great Kings had seen what he had done to one of their own. This was their retribution.
Seeing their slobbering fangs and eyes set on murderous intent, the terrified cub looked back at the rocks, but saw no means of escape. This was it. All manner of fluids streaming down his face, Simba lay down on the ground, and curled up into a ball of golden fur. He shook with every raking sob, as he braced for the end which he knew was coming.
I’ll be with you again soon, Dad. If you still want to see me...
But, before long, he realised something was up. No claws ripped into his hide; no teeth snapped his bones to pieces; not a single drop of his blood was spilt. The growls that had accompanied the hyenas’ arrival fell silent. Confused, Simba lifted his heavy head out of his protective ball, and looked around. He wasn’t sure, given that he could neither think nor see straight, but it seemed as though the hyenas
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