I hate lions. Ultimate killing machines, kings and queens of the savanna.
I hate the males especially, and they come in two particular types that I’ve observed. The first have no pride. They lurk, opportunists, troubling farmers livestock, and taking advantage of easy kills when they present themselves. But most of all they are dangerous and unpredictable.
The second type are the alphas. Those I truly despise. They sit in their harems, bloated, only moving to eat or screw. Their women doing all the work for them. And oh the women. Dangerous and ruthless, teaming together to make their kills. Terrifying to watch, worse to be a target.
I hate lions. Especially the one we’ve been tracking the last few nights. An old lone male, he lost his pride to a younger fitter challenger. The experience has not made him any less loathsome. He works mostly at night taking goats or cows. Getting fat on easy targets and the hard work of others. Now though he needs to die. We’ve been hired by the local farmers to put an end to his easy life, and tonight we’ll finally catch him.
I hate this lion. I hate the smell of him filling my senses. His easy kills leave a simple and pungent trail. His idleness is his own undoing. Shitting and pissing himself to an ignoble death.
We got first sight of him at dusk tonight. Prowling the ridge, his silhouette easy to make out. Our careful tracking ensures that as he makes his way down towards to cattle we are invisible to him in both sight and smell. Finally deep into the night he moves into position. He’s in the edge of the trees which delineate between the cultivated and wild world. We are about to make him wish he had stayed there.
I’m going to kill this lion. He draws his muscles taut and makes to leap. Before he has a chance to tear into the cattle I rush across him. I’ve startled him and he turns to face me. I hold my ground making myself look as loud and large as I can. His breath reaches my nose. Hot with the smell of decayed meat and his old rotting teeth. But I’m brave and I make the first move, making for his leg. I sink my teeth in as I can feel his head turn towards me. Mouth open ready to plunge his teeth into my flesh. But then… a crack, and his body becomes limp and he falls before me.
I hate lions. Even as the farmer is congratulating us I feel the yearning to hunt again. They hold us as heroes held aloft for all to see as they cheer, and chant their thanks to us. Someone is crying, we have set them free again. The lion cannot hurt them now, the fear has just been killed. Lions may be the great hunter of this land but they cannot match us. We are invincible.
They take him off to feast and to tell stories of his brave deeds but I’m happy with fresh meat, and the love of my master.