Post by Zeb on Jan 24, 2006 19:46:01 GMT -5
The River of Blood
Weak with hunger, I could bearly walk. My mother had nudged my sorry carcas along many times, that day. Dehydration had me in in its' grips. Sadly I was not not alone in my plight. A lot of the young were struggling also and constantly being pushed forward, reluctantly.
The ungodly vultures hovered above, waiting with unwavering patience for something to gorge on. A few of the elders had perished and been pecked clean by them. My mother had kept me from seeing this, of which I'm glad. In fact the idea of being torn to shreds by one of those, things, was spurring me on to the river.
Not a moment too soon, as I was at my lowest low, up ahead some of the elders in the front began to run. My mother grunted with glee and told me, "get your fill son and no matter what happens to me or any of the others, make it to the otherside." I had been told about the river and that many don't make it, to the green pastures on the other side. I always thought it was because we were all such bad swimmers. There was something she wasn't telling me but I knew I had no choice.
I was petrified, but the thirst overpowered my fear. I tried to keep up with my mother but I just hadn't got it in me. It was chaos. Bodies piled into the wild torrent. Lapping the sweet water up hastily. I managed to find a spot and drank my fill. Suddenly the water changed colour. I looked up puzzled.
I was aghast. These green monsters, with long noses, sharp teeth and spikes sticking out of there backs', were biting my bretheren and dragging them under the water. I froze. My mother never told me about this, I didn't know what to do and then an elder came up beside me and said, "listen son, you have to forget the crocodiles. If you you wana live and have little baby zebra's of your own, you've gotta cross the river of blood and that's that."
Warren Zeblon Gill
Copyright ©2005 Warren Zeblon Gill
Copyright ©2005 Warren Zeblon Gill