Pridelands, Simba…? No, it couldn’t be.

            Am I going crazy? What the h-

            He heard a scream but saw nothing except the dust of wildebeest. He wanted to move, but his paws were in place. All he could do was watch, whatever this phenomenon was. In the midst of this the king thought he saw the image of a golden colored lion running frantically. Before he could blink his mouth dropped as he watched the form of the lion leap into the air, catching something. Baraka shook his mane. Was that a cub? Was that in fact the cub whose name he’d heard just a moment ago?

            This isn’t real… the young lion kept reminding himself.

            He wanted to turn and leave, but his body refused to move and his mind refused to think of anything except this. He continued to watch as the large lion ran with the cub in its mouth, and at the same time – for no reason or any clear cut explanation – Baraka found that he was moving too, jumping from ledge to ledge and walking, all the while his mind’s eye was focused on what was happening below. The further he followed; the images were coming in crisper, clearer.

            When Baraka leapt on another ledge he saw the golden lion place the cub on a ledge not too far from the one Baraka now stood. The king sighed, thinking that this would end happily but it didn’t. He watched in horror and disbelief as the lion quickly was taken away by the flood of wildebeest.

            “Dad!” the cub cried horrified.

            Baraka held his breath. Dad… He thought for a moment. Simba…? Dad…? Slowly, the pieces started coming together. He was seeing his great grandfather saving the life of his son, Baraka’s grandfather. The Lion King watched as he, like the golden cub, searched for any sign of the lion. Was this it? It couldn’t be. Just when he believed and feared the worst, Baraka was stunned to see the lion jump through the stream of wildebeest, through the dust filled air, and grab onto a wall of the gorge, his claws digging in. Baraka smiled and sighed in relief. But he also noticed the scratches, cuts and bruises’ the lion suffered, and how incredibly exhausted he looked.

            The cub, at this point, frantically turned and from what Baraka could see, began climbing over rocks to get to the other side. Baraka lifted his head, looking around to see if he could do the same. After a minute or two, he saw a few ledges that lead to a longer one, but the way up to it would take time. Since he was a full grown lion, he could climb with ease. Without thinking, he started.

            When he reached the ledge he was looking for, he ran on it but stopped dead as heard, “Scar!” coming from the wall of the gorge. His mouth fell as he saw the formation of a lean bodied brown furred black maned lion with a scar over the left eye. Baraka shook his head for a split second, thinking it was his father, but… No. That couldn’t be him. This lion was much skinnier and didn’t have a tuft of mane over his face.

            No, it couldn’t be… but it was.

            “Scar,” Baraka whispered. “Scar… Scar…”

            His eyes widened, his heart sank into his stomach and his stomach churned. It was then he understood everything. Was this it? Was this where the Pridelands last great king, Mufasa, met his end at the paws of his own brother?

            “Brother! Help me!” cried the golden Lion King as he hung on desperately to the wall, his eyes frantic and fearful while his hind paws grasped for any part of the wall to place his claws in.

            “Help him, grandfather! Help him!” Baraka found that those words came from him. He was calling out in desperation, but it was in vain. They couldn’t hear him. It was impossible. As hard as it would be, he watched.

            Then, in an instant, he saw Scar viciously plunge his fore claws into his brother’s forelegs, which forced Mufasa to roar out in severe pain and look up at Scar with terrified eyes. The words of the brown lion came slowly and menacingly. Baraka felt all time stand still in that moment.

            “Long, live, the king…” Scar said with no remorse.

            Baraka’s eye pupils shrank just as Mufasa’s had.

            Scar pulled his fore claws away without a second thought. He watched as his brother fell, his paws wanting to grab hold of something, anything. But there was nothing.

            Mufasa’s final cry was so loud that it echoed in Baraka’s ears. The lion watched, tears falling like rain from his eyes. He couldn’t look anymore. He turned his face away and cried. He couldn’t speak and was weak all over. He collapsed, burying his face in his forelegs, the sobs filling his entire body. Then he lifted his head and peered down into the gorge looking for something, any sign of the golden lion that was his great-grandfather. There was nothing except dust.

            With tear blurred eyes, Baraka slowly rose and ran down any ledges he could to get to the bottom. Once he was there, he walked. He didn’t know where he was going. The entire area was eerie and deathly quiet. The dust quickly reduced to the same brownish fog that had trapped him at the top of the gorge.

            Baraka searched for wildebeest, but there was nothing. He coughed until his ears snapped up at the sound of a voice.

            “Dad…!”

            For a moment he thought his eyes were playing tricks. But he saw the cub, the cub that his late grandfather had been so long ago. Confused and hurt by what he had witnessed, he followed the golden brown form through the dusty fog. He heard the cub call out, “Dad” in hope but all he received was a lone wildebeest running past him towards a broken tree with a large body lying underneath.

            Baraka walked up to the body but so did the young Simba. Baraka sat down and watched with broken heart. So this was his great-grandfather’s final resting place? The young king felt a terrible chill run up his spine and spread throughout his body. It was so intense that he sank to the floor with quivering legs, all the while the young form of his late grandfather tried every possible way to awaken his dead father but to no avail. Baraka sighed. He and Arif would have done the same with their own father.

            Tears filled his eyes as the cry of, ‘Help’ sounded from the cub. Baraka lowered his head, wishing that this was physically real. He wished he could’ve prevented this. But it was impossible. It wasn’t real, and it had happened long before he was born, not to mention his parents. But he didn’t understand why he had seen Mufasa’s last moments on earth be played out before him as it actually happened. He still didn’t understand why he was even at the gorge.

            Had Hasira’s advancements shaken him so much that he was hallucinating? Was he really that put off? Most lions would have… He shook his head. He wasn’t like most lions, let alone kings who surrendered to their lionesses’.

            He lay down as Simba wrapped himself in his father’s paw and fell asleep from grief and exhaustion. Baraka sniffed and then right before his eyes, the visions of the two lions disappeared. Mufasa’s body had been replaced with a large bed of grass. Baraka rose and walked to it. Something told him it was real. With a pained sigh, his body completely drained of any more urges to move, the young king slowly rested upon the ground. A tear leaked out of each eye. More followed.

            Why, oh, why did he see the death of his great-grandfather? Was it to remind him of something or tell him something? The Circle of Life wasn’t fair that much he knew. Was it to help him and if so, how? How could that, such a tragic, event help? He shivered, as if feeling the pain and suffering that had taken place here so many years ago.

            Baraka sobbed from pain, regret and remorse. He felt isolated from anyone, everyone and anything down here.