Words And Rumours

[CatchTheRain]

Words are nowadays the most powerful tool in existence. Every lie ever told, rumour ever started, fact thrown down into discussion, all of it started as words. Knowing this I have never understood why they could have believed him so easily. If words can be so manipulative to others, then why would anyone ever believe what somebody else tells them? No, the only way is to make your own beliefs, and shape your own destiny. Those rumours back at home, now believed to be true, are about to be put to rest.

She had told me everything, that he had led them to the brink of ruin and was prepared to jump from the brink right into death. So long as it meant being king, he seems not to care about anything or anyone else, even his self. But it is in the past now, or so I thought it was. And yet here I am running back through that desert heat, it felt as intoxicating as I remembered the last time I had made this journey. But now I was armed with truth, and responsibility to do what is right.

They say he wanders alone now and that on the coldest of nights his star can be seen. His time as king over before it had even begun. They say that should you encounter him, you should begin to run for your life from the dangerous exile. But these thoughts can not possibly be true, could he really have killed his own father at such a young age?

Rumours and lies are strange, mind blowing concepts to me. How can it be so easy for him to manipulate the mind of others? Tell one lion or lioness one thing, and add a false sense of truth, they will tell two more, ten more and eventually a hundred more. Eventually though someone will hear it who knows it is not true, like her. She knows the truth, and if I can build up the courage to face her with the truth, my own best friend from my past, then I am sure I can confront the rest of them. After all the truth is a strange concept to me, when one discovers it they will tell two more, ten more and eventually a hundred more. Truth is not unlike a lie in that way.

As I ran with these thoughts in mind across the hot and barren dessert, back to that place where it had all happened, back to my home. I looked back on my time in the jungles, true I had been in exile, hiding ignorantly from a past I could not face, but I was never truly alone. Those two, Timon and Pumbaa, had raised me up, they are now the two best and most loyal friends any lion could hope to have. Perhaps this loyalty trait had been passed onto me over time, but with loyalty comes responsibility. I am loyal to the truth, and what is right.

And what is right, is that he who is now on the throne, my own uncle, he should not be on the throne at all. He was a wonderful uncle and lion once, named Taka, but now everyone just calls him Scar. It is odd actually, ever since he acquired this new nickname he had been the one the aforementioned rumours had been circulation on, now the rumours were all based on me. I guess that is the power of belief, if you believe something you hear, something you read or something you see, and then you can create your own beliefs, your own sense of truth. And what I believe right now is that I must confront him and reclaim my place on the throne.

Perhaps it is fate then, that I must confront the past to fix the future. Fate again, much like the rumours has always been an odd concept for me. C will only happen if A and B occur before it, but yet that lion stalking you from the shadows behind you, he is going to rip you apart in seconds, regardless of whether you turn and see him or not. No, this was not “fate” this was my decision, this was me rebelling against the dark fate of the Pride Lands.

These thoughts carried me, all the way back home. And here I am, I stand a top a rock and observe my surroundings, nothing looks the way I remembered it. The rivers dried up, the green grass nowhere to even be seen, substituted for the gravel beneath. And that wildebeest valley, where all of this had started contained no more signs of life. Looking back at it now, the memories start to come back, and with that final glimpse of my un- I mean Scar, pushing my father down to his death, I head forward into the Pride Lands. This wasteland is my canvas to paint, into the former glory my father had created, or perhaps even something greater.
He does the same action to my mother, hitting her with force and sending her falling back. I can only let out the most angry of roars in pure hatred. Hate and petty for such a lowlife.

They say I wander alone now and that on the coldest of nights my star can be seen. My time as king over before it had even begun. They say that should you encounter me, you should begin to run for your life from the dangerous exile. But these thoughts are not true, I did not kill my father.

But still they looked at me in disbelief, and the words circled around my ears “His father.” “ I Thought he was dead.” “It cannot be him.” “Poor kid.” They buzzed around like a swarm of flies. My eyes remain fixed on Scar and my kingdom though, after all, these were only rumours. And rumours, as we know, are simply words. Meaningless and powerless words.