Tusk Till Gone

 Short Story

Reluctantly I open my eyes to the bright sun cresting above the horizon. Lately I find myself sleeping only about three or four hours a night and ever since the dry season has rolled in my nose has been constantly stuffed up. On the bright side though. The morning dew feels exceptionally nice on my coarse skin, leaving me refreshed and cool in this new days heat. Far off in the distance the loud, bellowing roars of lions can be heard, carried aloft, swiftly on the gentle breeze. I slowly stumble for my footing and rise to my feet still groggy from my slumber.

Warily eyed I look around to survey my surroundings. A tall giraffe catches my eye, as it elegantly strides by. The smells of morning are euphoric. I love cherishing the beauty of dawn and basking in the harmonies of song birds, being perched high amongst the trees. It makes me feel so happy to be alive.

Snapping out of my wanderlust I realize my tardiness. Generally every morning I make a good point of rushing down to the riverbank.

You see you have to get there early, before the long faces move in and take it over. Otherwise your whole day is pretty much shot and your stuck trying to find a safe spot to bathe. Those prehistoric bastards, they tend to think they own the joint. Always snapping and biting at anything that moves.

Slowly I start down towards the River, stoping along the way to sniff out a good walking stick and to accompany me on my hike. The trail to the River can be a treacherous one and I always like having something in my grasp.

Abruptly and without any warning a loud roar rages all around me. Its very presence shifting the tall grass and in a violent bend. The force and quickness of the strange gusts send me into a feverish panic. I blindly bolt for the river bank, charging and bulldozing my way across the great grassy plain.

“What is this?” I cry, feverishly glancing up in my wild hysteria. I could only describe what I see, as a giant wingless bird. Its colours brightly glistening in the morning sun.

As fast as I ran I could not out run it. I zigged and I zagged, I bobbed and I weaved, but to no a vale. Then the searing pain behind my floppy ear forces me to involuntarily slow down.

Has this wingless bird driven its razor sharp talons into my flesh? I fear and question.

“I don’t understand,” I trumpet aloud, falling to a knee in searing pain.