It's rained almost every shift I've worked this summer, and when you work outdoors as a lifeguard, that tends to give you a good amount of free time as no one comes to your pool. So I wrote this in a few hours yesterday. I'm not solely satisfied with it, but I'm also not one to let something sit unposted, so… here, take this!

Summer Fires

A canvas of color paints the evening sky, strokes of violet and orange streaking across the vast plain in a flurry of sensuous shades. A slight breeze rustles the sparse trees in the summer Serengeti air. Animals old and young dash about the plains, their voices indistinguishable as they shout and call to one another. The glare of the setting sun is nearly spent. Nighttime approaches.

A cloud of thin, black smoke is wafting lazily toward the colorful atmosphere – first translucent, but soon far more adversarial. A cacophonous cry can be heard nearby, a rising sea of voices which begs for mercy from the heavens above. The creatures of the Serengeti look up, up to the skies, yearning for a single droplet, and then an eventual, careening cascade that might save them. But it is all in vain.

It has not rained in many cycles of the moon, and conditions have thusly become quite arid throughout the Pride Lands. There are murmurs, hushed as they are, that it is the fault of King Scar, whose indiscretions against the lands and its inhabitants have angered the Great Kings. As long as the ruthless tyrant remains in power, the kingdom will suffer.

But at that very moment, the king is nonplussed. He has seen his empire decline and wither away, the golden lands becoming gray and dilapidated.

Scar's focus is on a completely different matter. His teeth clenched in concentration, tail twitching in anticipation, he awaits her at the entrance to his innermost chamber within Pride Rock. She will come, he thinks. It is only a matter of time.

Outside, a din of voices shakes him from his tempered concentration. The king is frustrated at this, but yields not to the temptation of an enraged outburst. No, no, she will come. What is outside does not matter. She matters.

He idly traces a claw in the dirt as he bides his time. She is late, he thinks. Did I not stress punctuality? Finally, there is a sound in the outer caverns, a pattering of steps, an approaching being. King Scar licks his lips.

Sarabi enters. The king is disheartened.

"Scar!"

"I prefer king, Sarabi dear."

The elderly lioness ignores this. "Problems. In the savanna."

"Tell the wildebeest it is merely the… eh, circle of life…" he starts lazily.

"No, Scar," Sarabi's gaze narrows. "Come outside. Now."

"But you see, I quite prefer the darkness, much easier to stalk one's prey…"

"The savanna is ablaze, Scar. As the king I thought you should know." She darts from the cave, expectant that he will follow her.

But Scar cannot budge. The news, in fact, barely registers with him, regardless of its weight. His mind, instead, is decidedly one-track, his attention focused on the ultimate prize.

There are whispers outside. Shouts. Cries. Golden brown lionesses dart and dash all over Pride Rock, some calling to others to find family members and friends, others trying to hatch what would be a certainly-futile plan to extinguish the flames.

The land burns; the smoke thickens. An untimely incursion of heat lightning is to blame, white-hot electricity striking a field of brush to the north of Pride Rock. The fire started almost immediately and spread quickly. What vegetation is left within the Pride Lands is either charred or shall soon be charred.

Many of the herds that once dotted the lands have already moved on to much more fortified plains, causing food rations to deplete magnificently under the reign of Scar. This, fears the lionesses, will only further their pain.

The lands will be a wasteland. A graveyard.

It is rumored that the drought is punishment from the Great Kings, a sentence directed almost solely at Scar himself. It is not known by the other lionesses why this could be. Perhaps it is his constant misuse of the lands and of its resources. Or that his leadership pales in comparison to that of his predecessor, Mufasa.

Perhaps it is his disregard of the wise shaman Rafiki, who many claim has the ear of those above and can beseech the overlords to cause drought and famine if so desired – and, conversely, rain.

Scar shrugs this off as nonsense – pure, unthinkable, inscrutable nonsense. He will not rely on some monkey to bring the rains – it is nonsense. They will come when they come. We cannot predict the weather, nor can we control it. We do what we must.

Moments turn to minutes, which pass with nary a voice or sound of steps toward his chamber. Scar is perturbed, his teeth bared forebodingly as he crouches toward the back of the dark room. The cries outside have become more alarmed and frequent, but the king is impassive. The fire will not travel to his quarters. He is safe.

Again he thinks: She will come. She must come. She always comes. Yes, my queen, yes.

He hears a snapping of a twig nearby. His yellowed eyes dart forward hastily. A young lioness stoops at the entrance, glancing around the circular cavern. Scar smiles.

"Nala," he speaks once. The lioness jumps, spinning around to face the direction of the voice. Scar slinks out of the shadows, coming into full view. Her gaze narrows.

"Your majesty. I knew I'd find you here."

"Ah, looking for me, were we?" says King Scar, his words venomous. "I'm flattered, really. But what for, hm?"

He prowls toward the lioness. "You are late, after all. Your hunting report was due by sundown. Surely it is far past that time by now."

Nala stares at the old king incredulously. "Do you even realize…"

"Perhaps there was no report at all," the king begins to circle his prey – slowly, as if she were a little zebra he did not wish to startle and cause to run away for all it was worth. "Perchance you are here for a different –"

"A quarter of our land is aflame, as Sarabi already told you. I came merely to get our king to come lead his kingdom in its time of need," she says.

"Oh, give up," growls Scar, shooting a furtive glance toward the entrance. "There is nothing I or any other can do. It is the will of the land, Nala dear."

"If you only visited Rafiki—"

"The monkey can die in this blaze as far as I'm concerned."

"And if he does, your kingship will be even more doomed than it is now."

Scar pads away from his company, his head downcast in a look of sorrow and regret. "Doomed. You are right, Nala. I am doomed."

Nala feels a twinge of consideration for the king, thinking she has perhaps gotten through to him, but her conscience gets the best of her and she snaps back to reality. Scar's words drip with apathy.

He speaks again. "For you see, Nala, I am without a queen."

"Clearly."

The king's head swivels to face her. "And that, I must say, is not the will of the land."

"Hm."

"Perhaps my focus since I assumed the throne has been a little… off." He is pacing again.

"Can't disagree there."

Scar sees this as an opening. "So you agree?"

More cries outside. "I think the fact that we're having this conversation right now all but confirms that."

"Yes, indeed…" the old king glowers at the lioness – hungrily. She is perfection, he thinks. Every lustrous curve proves this. I must possess her.

King Scar takes a step forward. "Then why not make this official, my dear?"

Nala shoots him a bemused look. "…what? What do you mean?"

"Oh, I think you know precisely what I mean," rumbles Scar.

The lioness is taken aback momentarily, still unsure of the king's intentions. Shaking this off, she turns toward the mouth of the chamber. "Then come, we must find Rafiki. He can stop this. He can bring the rain."

Scar sighs languidly. "Still on about the monkey, are we? Let him die."

"Scar!" she roars, her face contorted into an expression of rage. "Come. Do you wish to right your wrongs or not? This can be fixed, if only you'd just listen!"

"I could say the same of you."

The statement causes Nala to miss a beat yet again, before she shouts, "Regain your focus, Scar!"

"Oh, but I have."

He leaps toward her.

It is a combination of the darkness and being caught so off guard by his advances that causes Nala to be conquered quite quickly. Scar is on her almost instantly, pinning her down, a claw on his right paw unsheathed and pressed firmly against her neck. The lioness cries out, but her howls are muffled by the king's other paw.

"Why must we do things the hard way?" he whispers sinisterly, his muzzle not even a pawbreadth from her left ear. The lioness whimpers.

"I have been patient," he continues. "Oh, have I. Waiting for you this evening, my dear, has been oh-so-tempting."

Nala whispers something, but it is unintelligible against the rock floor and Scar's paw.

"My, how you've grown, Nala. You've grown into such a… nice lioness. A worthy prize for any lion, surely. Oh, too bad Simba's not here to claim it…" He feels her body slacken under his at the mention of this name.

"And I, well, I need a queen. Cubs. Immortality. Do you understand, Nala? Can you conceive what could be?" There is a maniacal look in his eye. "No king has ever assumed the throne in these lands without a queen. This must be the reason the Great Kings have been so adverse to my rule."

Since hearing Simba's name, Nala has begun to sob. Scar feels her tears on both paws, along with another fluid substance on his right paw. He is pressing quite resolutely into her neck; he knows what it must be.

"Sarabi is too old, and I would never take a female after my brother," he growls. "But… who should appear this evening but you..."

Voices outside.

His voice is a whisper. "We all know full-well that no male lion resides in this pride, save for me. Think of it, Nala – you need me just as I need you. It is as though the Great Kings fated our union." He relieves the pressure on her neck. "A union which we shall now consummate."

"Not now, you won't!" cries a voice all-too-familiar to both lions.

The blue hornbill soars at the king, talons outstretched. Scar is so occupied, so focused that he never sees Zazu coming until it is too late. The bird rakes at the king's faces, causing him to roar in pain. His grip relaxes, and the young lioness skirts from underneath his massive body, rolling away, her breath heavy.

The lioness known as Sarafina is close behind Zazu, with her the fury of a thousand kings. King Scar cannot react quickly enough, his face twisted in pain as blood pours from above his eyes, his black mane matted in clumps from blood and dirt. Claws meet chest, and the two lions are sent sprawling, the king landing on his back, Sarafina atop him, a crazed look in her eye.

"Nala! Are you okay?" Zazu calls from the air, still facing Scar. She murmurs a reply which he cannot comprehend, and the hornbill moves to tend to her while Sarafina has Scar in submission. Luckily, other lionesses have heard the disturbance and join as well.

"Insolent fools," snarls King Scar. "You will pay dearly for this."

"We'll all pay dearly no matter what if you don't leave soon," announces Sarabi from the mouth of the chamber.

"If I have not been clear, the monkey can die for all I care."

But moments later, he is outside, his spirit torn enough that putting up any more of a fight than he already had would be useless – plus, though he did not admit it, he was imperceptibly frightened of the lioness group as a whole, and his hyenas were nowhere to be found. A talk would be necessary with them once this blew over.

However, once Scar was out and in the open, it became clear to him that merely waiting for things to 'blow over' would not be as easy as one might have thought.

Across the burning land, a spell of animals dash in and out of the flames, some searching for family members, others trying to find refuge. Some have gathered around Pride Rock, seeking refuge within its bounds.

Others, it is clear when the king looks across the lands, have not been as lucky.

"Now do you understand?" Sarabi manages to ask this calmly. "The Kings are not pleased with you. And this is our repentance."

There is a stitch of distress within Scar, soon replaced with discomfiture. His focus has left the smoking plains, though. He glances over at Nala, who leans against her mother, her expression stern. He is unsure whether such an opportunity will present itself again. But he must not lose sight of that which is most important –immortality.

King Scar turns from the scene, padding back toward the entrance to Pride Rock. Sarabi stares in disbelief. "Where are you –"

"Have the hyenas cast out into the plains once the fires have receded," he announces. "…we will dine well these next few moons."

He brushes past a glum mandrill, who had glanced at the king expectantly. Perhaps, if only the king had listened to his constituents, he would have understood what the shaman could do for him. Rafiki knew it was no secret that the Great Kings detested Scar's rule. But had the brother of Mufasa aligned with him, maybe – just maybe – this tragedy could have been avoided.

The lands are charred beyond recognition, and chances are they will continue to burn for weeks. Rafiki is confident that the blaze will die down soon enough, but once it does, the herds are not likely to return.

While many can do no more but stand in awe of the astonishing scene, the shaman turns from the group and, walking stick in hand, a mournful song in his throat.

"Tumewahi mabadiliko,

kucheza katika mvua?

Uchangamfu ngoma nafsi zetu,

kiangazi nzito sisi wote tena,

zote ni vizuri kwamba mwisho vizuri"

END