I wrote this about three years ago, in 2005. I’d love to publish it as a small book. In my mind’s eye, I see the characters, the scene, everything. It really needs an artist who wants to interpret what they see.
For a moment or two, Varkon stood there, sniffing the morning air. Deeply inhaling, he enjoyed the scent of fresh grass growth, of newborn lilies against the south wall. He watched as the giant yellow orb began to light up the new day.
Suddenly, he smelt something new. He had smelt this before, but it was so long ago he had to spend a moment to regather his thoughts.
He quickly trotted across the wet grass, along the rocks around the lake, and up to his usual staring-place. Often he stood there, watching the humanoids that regularly gathered on the exterior of the citadel. Varkon wondered what they did, and why they pointed at them. Also they aimed small silver boxes that short white light into his eyes. This had originally angered when younger, but over time had gotten used to it.
This morning a young humanoid stood there. Its pasty white skin shone brightly, and it had thin fur standing upon its round head.
Varkon snorted, a flare of phlegm shot out, quickly staining the mottled grey area in front of him. The young humanoid stepped backward, cringing, or so Varkon thought. If he had known the teenage human was disgusted, he still would not have cared.
Stamping down twice, he looked at the humanoid and licked his lips, cocking his head to one side. He’d played this game before, but not on this horizon in a long time. In fact, not since he had been born…
This was where he and mother, and his seven other siblings had entered the citadel. They had joined the clan a’new – as younglings.
His mother had read him stories of what the citadel had been like before they’d been born of how their father had died trying to escape, and of the boy who’d helped his mother bring Varkon and his sisters into the world.
Varkon was quickly brought back into the now as something small and round hit his side. He looked down and sniffed the object. His mouth watered, and he slobbered the new found object, enjoying its unworldly taste.
He looked up to see from where the object had originated. The child was still up there, baring its teeth, lips, curled upward. Varkon had never seen a smile, nor known the emotion.
But this human seemed familiar. He suspected this boy had stood above one of the many parapets around the citadel of warthogs, amongst the many other humans who daily threw buckets of organic matter upon his family. Mother had taught them long ago under which wall to wait for food to arrive, and when it was best to feed.
Varkon stepped backward, to his right; as yet another projectile flew across the wall. His true amazement was at the strength the standing biped could push an object through the air.
The new item landed in the lake beyond him. Varkon was not impressed. {You’d think it could aim better} he thought. {Oh well, I can fetch it out…}
Varkon walked down to the waters edge, and gingerly dipped a hoof in. Wet, it was – and cold too. He sniffed at the water, out of habit he guessed. It didn’t help. The location of the item was unknown.
But thankfully he’d done this before. He snorted a glob as he remembered watching Mother walk across, the water no deeper than her midriff. She often returned with floating vegetation for his sisters to slobber down.
But today, it was his turn. Without blinking Varkon stepped out, the icy water scaled off the few fleas between his hooves, washing week-old dirty away.
Quickly he negotiated the numerous solid obstacles strewn across this liquid grove. Many things had been heaved this way, only to be ignored by his mother. If it floated she would collect, otherwise the eventual destination was unknown. Many items stayed in this lake unfound.
Varkon had only stridden eight lengths of his body before his stomach felt the coldness of water against it. He hunkered up as best he could, but that affected his speed. So he ignored the water, and followed his nose. Continually sniffing the air around him, determining where the boy had gracefully pitched the foodstuff.
Varkon suddenly stopped: {What if… What if it did not float? Silly me! Too late, I am here now!} Ignoring the argument in his head, he strode on. At least he was bathing, he’d promised mother he would! He’d also promised mother he would sleep outside the hut. But the nights had been cold this week – so he’d crept in twice and slept between his two older sisters. They ignored him – warmth conquered chromosomal disgust every time!
He sloshed through the slime-filled water, never fearing the sharpened items in the muddy soil below. Already he had jumped as a branch pierced the only patch of skin on his hoofs. No matter, Mother had always said he needed ‘toughening up.
Stopping suddenly, he looked left and way off into the distance. He squinted his eyes (unknowingly), focusing on the land on the horizon. With a shake of his tail, he realised what he could see – his Mother and Sisters staring at an object in the water – himself! He doubted they realised, so didn’t bother to illuminate them.
Suddenly he jumped. Something had brushed his leg. He moved his rear legs around, surveying the water all around himself…
And there it was.
Half an apple. Well, not so much half, but an apple with a large chunk bitten out of it. Not too much. He sniffed at it, a glob of drool landing on it. He sniffed again, long and hard this time, as recognised a smell on it.
Inside his head, a trigger went off, and a flood of old memories came back to him. The boys face as familiar after all. It was Eric Foreman, the Zoo Hand’s young son. Eric has been there when Varkon’s Mother had been cut open, her lower abdomen peeled back to reveal a bloated fetus – eight babies within a space which normally, at most, held six.
Varkon had been the seventh to escape that day. He had brought into the world sooner than expected. Amazingly, his mother survived the trying ordeal. (Unfortunately, the eighth child had been so small that he didn’t survive. But Mother named her ‘Litun’ nonetheless…)
Varkon awoke from his daydream, watching the apple float away from him. He followed it, unsure what to do – eat it by himself, or share with Mother and family? A third option dug at him. He was perplexed, because the new idea did not include eating it, but was fast becoming a choice of action.
Varkon quickly decided. Delicately, he picked up the ‘core with his front teeth, and began the long walk back to where he entered the lake. The mint-like taste of apple mixed with his own drool meant he longed to eat it, munch it down!
But his inner conscious stopped him. He had a mission now, a destination awaited finality. Through the outcrop of sunken children’s shoes, across the moss grown rock-pile, and a “pit, pat, pit, pat” across the stagnant shallow end of the pond … and up to dry land.
The apple was breaking up. His teeth had split it in half while walking. Stopping momentarily, he dropped it, and stared at for a moment, considering his next move. With only a few seconds hesitation, he chomped down the smaller bit, enjoying its unique taste, swallowing the half-chewed morsal quickly.
Again, he carefully bit the remaining portion with his front incisors, lifted it, and continued at a steady pace. He knew where he was going, but not entirely sure what was going to happen when he arrived. He felt giddy in the head as thought of the possibilities.
{Would Eric remember me? What if he does not?}
Varkon pushed aside this thought as he pushed through the dry reeds that held the lake’s sides strong. Up over the tiny cactus farm, weaving between the dangerous plants. Treading firmly across a black-ant mound, stomping to kill any that had thoughts of climbing the hairy mammoth atop their home.
Finally Varkon saw the giant grey wall of the south side of his enclosure. With both anticipation and trepidation, he marched forward, searching the cliff top for Eric’s form. His eyes widened when he finally saw the shaved skin of the humanoid, it’s un-camouflaged whiteness standing out amongst the surrounding taller trees.
Varkon reached the wall’s base, dropped his prize, and looked upward, not knowing why head come this far, or what to expect…
Eric sighed, but stood smiling. {Amazing, totally amazing!} He looked down at the display-board, tracing a finger over the had-drawn images his father had drawn ten years earlier: A rough image of this animal, plus seven other cartoon bodies. The eighth had a black dot against it, denoting death. But he knew that – Eric remembered that day!
Eric looked down into the enclosure. His father and uncles had spent a lot of money building this fantastic dream, a zoo of animals from around the world, right here in the middle of Australia. He remembered being allowed to skip school to help his mother hand-rear these warthogs. They were ugly critters, but defiant, growing very quickly.
But then he had finished school, doing well in science and extra-curricular zoological studies. He had travelled the world searching and helping endangered species, particularly orang-utans, panda bears, and grizzly bears.
A grunt from the purpose-dug ravine awoke him from the memories of the world outside this farm. The warthog still stood there, now scratching its belly with a hind leg. To encourage it not to stay too far, he threw another apple from the half-empty bucket. He laughed as it jumped on the apple, not eating it. Varkon petted it to and fro along the dusty grown, onto the dirt, and alongside the half-eaten core he had retrieved from the lake.
Eric watched, intrigued as the feral and under-fed animal guarded its two new prizes, sitting back on its haunches, staring up at the possibility of more…
Eric sighed again. This time a tear came to his eye, as he knew what had to be done. These animals had contracted a disease, presumably from rotten food thrown by the many visitors that paid to see the animals every day.
Lifting the lethal tranquilliser gun to his shoulder, he loaded the feathered dart.
“For what it is worth, my friend, I will miss you…“
Feel free to rip to shreds, suggest sentence restructure, spot speling misteaks and generally give your opinion.
Before you ask: All names and places are fictional and are not meant to resemble any person or character, living or dead. Yes, really!
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