Death of a King

Death of a King

A Story by Scribbles

Inspired by Mufasa.


The word whispered its way amongst the warm evening breezes as twilight settled across the grasslands. By the time the night once again succumbed to early day, the solemn news had wound its way across the kingdom, curling and clawing through the air like a suffocating cloud of smog. The king had fallen.
As the gloom of night lingered in the clouds - unrelenting in it's battle against the pale morning light, I scurried quietly through the grass, wide eyes darting suspiciously, awaiting the familiar rustling of danger. The king’s death meant more than the lost of a great leader. It meant the lost of order and protection. The mere thought of the chaos that even now silently engulfed my home sent my small heart thudding wildly in my ribcage. My pace quickened as the early morning conflict of dark and light threw twisted shadows across the landscape, horrific monsters bending and arcing maliciously, waiting to strike. I could do nothing but dart through the gently swaying forests of grass as the white rays of the morning gleamed welcomingly, banishing the shadows, but not the fear. I crawled my way through the endless jumble of lime and olive, ever swaying, wind slowly whispering talk of death and successors as the plants swayed knowingly. Hunger suddenly gnawed at my insides as I continued my search, wide eyes still darting expectantly. Then I saw him.
The high grass " at least three times as tall as my small, meek frame - lay crushed and yellowing, lifeless, unmoving, stretched out beneath the vast expanse of fur. I gazed in mournful awe at the enormous, lifeless body of our fallen king. His golden pelt gleamed magnificently in the early sunlight, grand and regal against the earthly greens of the respectful waving grass. His great face lay still, eyes closed, wrapped in a dream from which he would never wake. He seemed the image of perfection in his never-ending slumber, great sunburnt mane and muscular form just as commanding as they once had been in life. I stared intensely as the sun streaked across the sky, waiting for our mighty king to awaken; but he never once moved.
A distant screech of vultures tore me from my mournful sentry, and with a heavy heart I plucked a shining dragon fruit from beneath the lion’s dusty mane and scuttled home, as hungry talons clawed and ripped at once majestic flesh.

© 2011 Scribbles

My Review

Would you like to review this Story?
Login | Register

Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Added on May 30, 2011
Last Updated on May 30, 2011
Tags: King, Death, Lion, Prose, Royalty, Jungle.



Dublin, Ireland

I want to write plays. :) more..

Kenan Kenan

A Poem by Scribbles

Hush Hush

A Poem by Scribbles