Hello to everyone! This is my first Lion King fic, first Lion King 1/2 fic, too. Many thanks to ML who requested, basically beta-d, and brought this story to life. So amazing working with you, just putting that out there. And, I know, I know, you told me not to mentio you, but I couldn't resist. You were just that awesome. Seriously. You friggin' ROCK!
Hakuna Matata, and happy reading!
Disclaimer: I do not own any of these amazing characters or anything of the sort. If I did, Pumbaa would have gotten a girlfriend. Who would accidently sit on Timone whenever he insulted Pumbaa. Just sayin'.
Warning: This is a multi-chapter fic, and will eventually have a bittersweet ending. Not saying who will get the bitter, and who will get the sweet. You have been warned.
We start this story, dear readers, in a home like every other home. Quiet, unassuming, modern. It sits on a good-sized patch of green grass, with a white picket fence surrounding the back yard. The street in front of the house is fairly common, also; a few cracks here and there, a small pothole off to the side, the yellow dashes down the middle slightly faded from use. Nothing very noticeable or out of the ordinary.
Maybe this was by accident, maybe it was the hand of Lady Fate. Maybe it was neither. Either way, it just goes to show that it could happen to anyone. It could happen to a school teacher. It could happen to a housewife, or a business man. It could happen to you.
What is this 'it' I speak of? Well, that is the purpose of this very story. That is the purpose for my entire being. To warn people of what could be, what is, and what will be. Will you heed my tome, my warning? Perhaps you need to hear the entire story first…
Mark sighed and leaned back against the couch. School was out for the summer and, to make it even better, he had no projects or assignments. Not to mention the best part of the day.
He'd finally paid Mrs. Kalfer back for all those hours of late-night studying and cram sessions. Worms in her purse wasn't the most eloquent solution, but it did get the job done, and that was all he needed. He hadn't put the worms in there himself, of course. He'd paid someone to do it, as he couldn't stand to touch such loathsome creatures. The fact that Mrs. Kalfer would probably freak out and kill the worms was icing on the cake.
Mark closed his eyes and savored the taste of success. He had to admit, it was sweet. Almost as sweet as killing a bug himself would taste. Not the killing part, no, that part was despicable and disgusting. It was the knowledge that you'd cleansed the world of another parasite.
The TV blared another commercial about a Disney classic brought back in 3D. It hit theaters that Saturday. Interesting. He might go and see it, though of course it could never be as wonderful as his personal Disney favorite. The Lion King ½. The original was very good, and the sequel was even better! But ½ was the best- after all, it told the past of his favorite characters, Timone and Pumbaa. From the time Timone's past was explained to when the credits rolled, he sat enthralled with the movie, which was more than he could say for any other movie.
Now that he'd started thinking about it, he had to watch it. One would think that after watching the same movie time after time again he would get bored of it, but it was just the opposite. He enjoyed watching the scenes and feeling the anticipation of what would happen next. He smiled with glee as he mouthed the lines along with the characters. He laughed at the funny parts and held his breath at the dramatic ones. It was ridiculous, and totally childish, but it was who he was.
And really, everyone should have something that held joy for them no matter what, whether it was a movie, a book, a hobby, whatever. Take his mother for example- she loved luring various men in, stealing their money, and then dumping them for the next cash-cow that came along. She reminded him of a female praying mantis; they bit the head off of their mates after conceiving. Though he had to admit his mother never had multiple children with each man. So dear old Mum had at least one redeeming quality: She wasn't a whore. He was her only child, though it didn't seem as if she treasured him like the moms of old cherished their first-born. But she did give him everything he wanted, as long as it shut him up for a month or two. Just a year ago she'd bought him the dog he'd wanted, an Alaskan Malamute puppy. Mark had named her Kylie.
Mark got up from the couch and walked over to the DVD stand that sat beside their TV. It was jammed full of every kind of movie out there- adventure, kids, romance (compliments of his mother), mystery, sci-fi, horror, you name it and he had it. He snagged Lion King ½ and turned to the DVD player, gently pushing the disk in until the machine ate it.
As the previews played he walked into the kitchen to make himself a snack. After all, what went better with a movie than popcorn? Especially when it was salted, buttered, and sprinkled with milk duds. Okay, he knew it sounded weird, but it was actually pretty good. The chocolate was all melt-y and you could taste a hint of salt.
He put the bag in the microwave and pressed the buttons for one minute. He turned around towards the sink and opened the cabinet that sat to the left of the faucet. He pulled his Disney mug out and filled it with soda after plunking two cubes of ice in the bottom.
He tipped some back and smacked his lips in satisfaction as the cool liquid slid down his throat. He felt a slight fizzy feeling in his nose and shook his head to disperse it. He hated it when that happened. He was pretty sure it came from not drinking soda for a while, say a few days, and then drinking it suddenly. It just went to show he needed to tell his mother to buy him more Coke. While she was at it, she should buy him more Red Bull, too, since he was almost out. And Monster, preferably the green kind since it tasted better than all the other kinds. Maybe he should just make a list. His Mountain Dew stash was on its last pack.
Hm. Since she was going to be picking up his drinks, he might as well tell her what snacks he wanted. He'd seen a commercial for new sugar-dusted powdered doughnuts with chocolate sprinkles and he wanted to try them. He needed more candy, too. The hard kind that slowly melted in your mouth, not the nasty stuff that stuck to your teeth and made your jaw hurt. More chips. Chocolate-chip cookies with marshmellows. Not to mention they were almost out of his ice cream, Chocolate Fudge Swirl.
Mark groaned and closed his eyes as a thought occurred to him. If he told his mom to buy more ice cream for him, she'd probably get herself one of those stupid, tiny half-pints. Mint Oreo, her favorite. He never understood why she liked that disgusting stuff; it tasted like cardboard to him. He'd told his mother as much, several times, but she never listened to him.
God, she was so selfish. He tried to help her, but she never listened. It wasn't that hard to take advice, but could she manage such a little task? No, she could not. It was pathetic.
He heard scratching at the door and looked over, startled at the interruption. Kylie was looking at him through the glass door. Her head was tilted and one ear was bent down, flopping adorably across her forehead. She lifted a paw and scratched again. He looked behind her and saw a dead bird on the grass. He smirked. At least she was good for one thing- she got rid of those pesky songbirds that always woke him up in the morning. He hated those stupid birds.
Mark walked over to the door and opened it, grateful that Kylie hadn't tracked mud in. She'd done that once, and when his mom came home and found it she'd freaked out and yelled at him for not cleaning it up. Why should he? It was her job to scrub the floors, not his.
He rubbed his foot across the floor. Speaking of cleaning, she needed to sweep the floors, too. That was the third time he'd noticed this month. Mom's really slacking, he thought. It was that new job of hers. She'd applied for some bartending gig and gotten it. Tons of booze and a load of men with loose morals and, more importantly, loose wallets. Perfect for a woman like her.
The microwave dinged and he walked over to it, shaking the bag and frowning when he heard rattling. Mark put the popcorn back in and set the timer for another minute. It should be good by then. Kylie rubbed against his legs and panted. Absently, he reached down and patted her head.
She rubbed her head against his legs one more time before going to the middle of the kitchen floor and sprawling out, as she was wont to do. He noted, with a bit of annoyance, she'd gotten hair on his pants. Now he'd have to use the hair-roller to make them look nice again. How tiring. Maybe he could just leave it. It would just fall on the floor, which needed to be swept anyway.
He jerked his head towards Kylie as she started huffing and arching her back. She looked like she was trying to spit something up, but nothing was coming. He hurried to her and put his hand on her ruff. He hoped she hadn't eaten another one of his model pieces. She'd done that a few times, and it was starting to really irritate him. He always had to custom order the pieces, and they cost more when they were custom-ordered. It was stupid, but he still had to pay the price if he wanted the piece, so he didn't really have a choice.
Kylie started huffing again, and he heard wet noise. She shook her head and arched her neck, opening her maw as wide as it would go. She hacked one more time and, to his growing horror, he saw an insect start to come out, dropping onto the floor in a puddle of brownish-green liquid and indiscernible chunks of old food.
She shook her head, sniffed the bug, and then walked off as if nothing had ever happened. Mark backed up as quickly as he could. He heard the microwave ding in the background, but couldn't see anything past the disgusting think floating in the middle of his pristine house. His lip curled just glancing at the thing from the corner of his eye. The smell of regurgitated food and mucus wafted back towards him and he slapped a hand over his lower face. It was stomach-wrenching and made his eyes water.
He gagged against his hand and shied away from the revolting mess. How much more gross could you get? God, he had to get his mother to start taking Kylie to the dentist! He'd told her that once, about a week ago, and she'd claimed that dogs didn't need to go to the dentist all the time. Obviously, Kylie had just proved that statement false. They would definitely be discussing this once she got home tonight from her job.
He slowly edged around the stain and grabbed a bunch of paper towels in one hand and an air freshener in the other. Mark looked over towards the laundry room and then back at the bug. He might as well grab the bleach while he was at it- hopefully it would get rid of that smell that was emanating from the puddle on his floor. He spotted some gloves on the shelf next to the bleach, and grabbed those too.
He walked back to the kitchen, edging along the back wall. His foot bumped his pairs of shoes by the back door and he slipped those on. He didn't want to take the chance that he might step in another, smaller pool of vomit Kylie had upchucked.
He cautiously stepped to the puddle and knelt down about a foot from it. He put the paper towels at the edges and nudged them closer, yanking his hand back before the paper towel could soak enough to touch his fingers. It didn't matter he was wearing gloves. It would still be technically touching him. He looked around for something he could use to push the towels forward. He saw a paintbrush on the counter and snatched that up. At least his mother's painting hobby had one use.
He stuck the end of the brush on the edge of the paper towel and prodded it more toward the center, then repeated the action with the other towels in turn until he'd encircled the entirety of the mess. He stood up and paced away, sickened by the very action. He could almost throw up himself.
He turned back as a movement registered in the corner of his eye. Dear Lord, please don't let it be…
He walked back over to the puddle and looked closer. It was. The dead bug, it seemed, was not as dead as it was supposed to be. How disappointing. A wave of repulsion washed over him as he saw the legs twitch. It seemed to be some kind of beetle, but he wouldn't know since he didn't make it a habit to study up on insects. Of any kind. In fact, there were times he went out of his way to avoid learning about them.
He reeled back as it twisted on its back. It continued to spin and try to get back on its feet and collect its bearings. Mark gagged and stuck his tongue out as he watched it. It was one of the most disgusting things a person could ever witness. That, he was sure of.
It was time to end this. If he kept looking at it, there was going to be a matching puddle on the floor right next to Kylie's mess. And then his mother would probably yell at him, even though it wasn't his fault he was completely and totally grossed out.
He slipped one of his shoes off, hopping over to the puddle on one foot, as the other was no longer protected.
He could already tell this was going to be one of the most disgusting things he'd ever done in his entire fifteen years on this god-awful, bug-infested earth. Did God even create bugs? Mark didn't think so. He thought it was the devil, Satan. Yeah, that seemed to fit the devil's personality, putting something as tortuous as bugs on this earth.
Mark peered at the puddle. The bug was still squirming. Ugh. He was going to need some serious therapy after this, even if killing the nasty thing was going to please him. Actually, he didn't even know if he was going to be able to feel happy about this- the revolution he was feeling was pretty much overriding it at this point.
Swallowing the bile rising in his throat, Mark stepped forward and squatted next to the twisting creature that was desperately trying to gain its footing. He couldn't let that happen. He poised the shoe over it, and then looked away as he shoved his hand down with all his might. He heard a sickening crunch, followed by an equally wrenching squishing sound, like trying to pull your foot out of thick mud.
He reluctantly forced himself to look at the mess that was currently covering a small section of the floor and the top half of his sneaker. Green and brown guts were splattered all over, tinged with red and black. He didn't even want to think about what each color might represent, but his imagination was already spinning the gruesome possibilities through his mind.
He shuddered, and then got to work. No one should have to clean up something as revolting as this, not even his mother. So he supposed he could clean it up out of the goodness of his heart. She'd better appreciate this.
Mark got some more paper towels and wet half of them, letting them drop on the floor beside the mess. They splattered on the floor, making a wet slap on the tiles. He wrinkled his nose. Even things that were going to relate to cleaning up that stupid bug carcass seemed nasty. Friggin' great.
He knelt down and fisted the wet towels, scrubbing the muddle of guts and liquid on the floor. It felt weird, it looked weird, it smelt weird, good Lord, it even sounded weird!
Turning his head away, he closed his eyes and scrunched his mouth while throwing the dirty towels into the trash. Mark grabbed more and repeated the process. It seemed to go on and on, the quantity of cleaning products lost on him as he chanted inside his head "Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat".
He'd only heard his mother say that stupid mantra, but it seemed to help her get out of the shower quicker, so he was all for it. She took up all the hot water and steamed up the mirrors. How was he supposed to make sure he looked presentable when he couldn't see himself? After all, someone had to show the world that his family wasn't just a bunch of slobs. His mother certainly wasn't a good representative.
Finally he glanced a look- he wanted to gasp in relief, but then there was a chance he might inhale any leftover fumes, and who knows what those kind of toxins could do to his system? No, better not to risk it and wait to celebrate later. The thing was so disgusting he didn't even know if it deserved a rejoicing, even if the cause of said rejoicing was death. Hm. That certainly was food for thought. He'd ponder that later when he had time. Was a bug even worth thought? This was really turning out to be a mind turner.
He dumped everything on the counter after spraying the area thoroughly with air fresheners. He washed his hands vigorously several times. He rubbed hand sanitizer on his upper arms and over his palms.
The TV was playing the title screen over and over again, waiting for someone to click 'play'. Mark yanked his popcorn out of the microwave on his way over. It was only lukewarm, he noted with some irritation. It was still good, after all it was popcorn, but it just wasn't the same. He threw it in the vicinity of the trash can, not caring when it bounced off and scattered across the floor. What did it matter? The old lady would clean it up sooner or later.
Mark jabbed at the 'play' button on the remote and sat down. Kylie jumped up on the couch and pawed at him. He ignored her until she started whining- he couldn't stand stuff like that. Crying, sniffling, whining, screaming, he hated it all. If everyone would just shut up and only talk about important things the world would be a much better place. His mother would never be able to talk, of course, but that was just another bonus.
"Stinkin' mutt. Do you know what I went through to clean up your mess? All the work I had to do? Not to mention the mental and emotional trauma involved! I hope you appreciate what I do for you." Kylie just gazed back at him with glassy eyes.
"Forget it," Mark muttered and turned his attention to the TV. Gradually the good feeling induced by the movie swept him away, and he forgot all about his earlier predicament. Everything was alright now that he had his movie. Everything was alright now. He wouldn't have to worry until The Lion King was over, wouldn't have to return to reality until it was over. He might not have much, but he could have this.
The familiar songs and dialogue soothed him, and he was soon lulled into a sleepy trance. He hummed along with another song, running the words through his mind. It was a good song, so upbeat and…and…mmm.
The dark and peaceful abyss that is sleep pulled at him. Mark resisted briefly before surrendering and sinking deep into his own consciousness. It was like a fluffy mattress after all that he'd been through. The thought of his horrible bug ordeal made him frown for a moment, until Simba's voice penetrated his mind-fog. He instantly relaxed and forgot about whatever it was that made him worry.
He drifted through the tendrils of gray mist, flashes of half-formed dreams coming and going, none ever catching his attention. One fragment caught his attention. There were lions in it, and a pig, and some kind of striped rodent…Timone, that was the rodent's name, and he was a Meer Kat. The pig was a warthog named Pumba. Yes, he had it now. The dream images came faster, the lion- his name was Simba. He and Timone and Pumba all stayed in the forest together. They were laughing at a joke. He didn't know what it was, something about bugs. Mark didn't like bugs, right? He couldn't latch on to his dislike for more than a moment though, as the scene changed.
He was in a tree now, but it wasn't a regular tree. The trunk was normal, but the leaves parted on top to form a round basin, and then came together again above it, creating a leafy canopy. The alcove looked unlike anything he'd ever seen before, with lots of odd-looking objects. Bowls and sticks, strange liquids of all colors. There were fruits, too, but not any that he'd seen before. There was one on the ground, cracked in half. It had orange gloop inside it, although the outside was more of a rusty red with lighter striped running down its sides. The gloop had been smeared on the tree trunk to form pictures. There was a lion cub with a red smear across its head, and other depictions of wildlife.
An animal clattered from the leaves and landed in front of him. It bustled around and moved things. Then it filled its hand with the orange stuff and started drawing on a previously vacant spot on the wall. At first he drew a bug, with a large round shell, but then he started drawing inside the bug until there was a boy standing seemingly in the bug's stomach. The animal, it appeared to be some kind of primate, drew a circle in the boy, outside him, and then encircled the bug as well. Mark decided the primate was a monkey as it leaned back and rubbed its chin, as if contemplating whether or not the picture was satisfactory. But Mark knew that was crazy. Animals didn't examine their drawings. They were stupid, mindless. It was a given.
The monkey stiffened, and turned slowly to look at Mark. It studied him and shook its head. It almost seemed as if the primate…pitied him. But that was ridiculous. If anything, Mark should be the one to pity it. It was just a stupid animal and it didn't even know it. Its life was completely irrelevant, and yet it still had the gall to think its problems even mattered. As. If.
As though it could hear his thoughts, the monkey glared at him. Man, if looks could kill. Death might actually be preferable to looking at it, though. It was ugly with a capital U. Its face was a blue-gray in color with a red snout and white hair. It nose was a light red. Gah, how disgusting. But then again, all animals looked disgusting, excepting some dogs, like his. His was cute.
Smiling, the monkey spoke to him. "Do you often insult people in your mind after breaking into their home? I also feel obligated to tell you if you steal anything, it will give you a rash." The monkey shrugged, and Mark's eyes followed the movement. Jeez, it was ugly even when it was shrugging.
"Is that all you can think about? My outward appearance? Looks aren't everything." Mark mentally rolled his eyes. Of course they were. If you weren't well-dressed, or handsome, how were people supposed to know you were worth anything? Take his mother for instance: She dressed slutty, so everyone assumed she was a whore. And they assumed correctly. In fact-
"Hey! How do you know anything, hmm? You don't! You know nothing!" Mark knew his mother wasn't worth two cents.
"Wrong again! She is worth more, if you bothered to look! But hopefully this experience will give you a little insight." How the hell did the monkey know anything? A small voice inside Mark's head said the monkey had to know something because it could talk, but that way of thinking never stayed long in his mind and, true to form, the voice became smaller and smaller until he could no longer hear it. That was much better.
The monkey screeched. "You are not a very intelligent young man. Honestly, I don't know how your mother put up with you. I would have fed you to the hyenas by now. Not the worst way to go." This animal was insane. It really thought he cared about the crap it was spouting off.
"Alright then, if that's how you feel. No avoiding it. I'll check on you after a day or two, if you actually live that long. Remember what I said about the hyenas now- there are worse things." It cracked its knuckled and rolled its neck. "Let's get this lion a-roaring!"
It turned to Mark and started mumbling, getting louder and louder as it talked. Mark almost laughed as he realized the monkey was reciting a poem. What did that crazy primate think its little nursery rhyme was gonna do?
"So you do, shall be done unto you.
So you see, shall others see you.
So you feel, shall others feel unto you.
May the Circle of Life have mercy upon you."
Mark laughed out loud after the monkey finally stopped. God, if only he had a videotape. This crap was priceless. He could probably make a killing off of this senseless ranting. Could monkeys get drunk? Maybe this one was jacked up on some weed a tourist left in the savannah.
A snort drew his attention back to the source of his amusement. "If you're going to insult me, you might as well do your homework. I am a baboon, not a monkey. And my name is Rafiki. Get it right."
What the-? That was the cockiest monkey- excuse him, baboon- he'd ever met. Rafiki. What kind of name was that? Did Rafiki's mother hate him or something? He could understand, given the conversation they'd had. If you could call it that, since it was completely one-sided.
With a start, Mark realized his brain was no longer foggy, like it'd been before he dreamed of this stupid tree and Rafiki. Why wasn't he waking up if he was this coherent? What was going on?
Rafiki threw powder on him before Mark could ponder his revelation more. He coughed and made a face. This was the nastiest smelling stuff he'd ever smelt, and that was saying something considering he'd smelt his mother's perfume before.
A dizzy sensation filled him and he fell to his knees. Rafiki walked closer and smiled down at him. "See you on the other side."
All Mark had time to think about before he fainted was how good a certain baboon head would look mounted on his wall.
Everything was blurry and…big. Mark shook his head to clear it and looked around. What was this? Leaves and bark and soil- was this a prank? His mother would do some crap like that. She was so immature it was ridiculous at times that she was actually an adult.
Something shoved into Mark and he stumbled aside. Or he would have, but something was wrong with his legs. They felt funny, oversized. They made his clumsy. He looked down to see what was wrong and did a double-take. His feet weren't feet. They were, they were-
Can't be happening, Mark, calm down, can't be happening. This isn't real, this is. Not. REAL!
"New here, huh? Yeah, I remember my first day here." Mark jerked his head around at the new voice. What was this crazy dude talking about?
"What are you talking about?" He was usually more articulate and witty, but after this shock, Mark figured he was allowed a droll moment or two.
"Hey, don't worry. I get it, culture shock, right? I know, I know. Used to live in the city, myself. Great place, but the pace was just to fast for me and my age to keep up. This place may seem boring, but don't let that fool you, no sireebub! You gotta watch out for the three great terrors!"
That didn't sound good. Mark momentarily forgot about his impending doom brought on by his…change, and focused on the old man's words for a second. "Three great terrors?"
The senior nodded. "Yup. You got the normal stuff to look out for, of course, the birds, the big bugs, the snakes, the smaller animals, an' all that. But them, the three terrors- I'd take my chances with the birds rather than face one of them any day."
They certainly sounded terrible. Mark wondered… "What are they like?"
The elder seemed to think a moment. "Well, no one's ever seen the three great terrors and lived, but…it's said each one is its own size. One large, one medium, and the other is small. The first one is scary enough just considering the size, but it's also said that it has a halo of red fire surrounding its head, and that its shell is sunlight incarnate, so bright that it can blind you with just one look."
Well, that didn't sound good. But then, it couldn't get much worse.
"But at least there's a chance of living with that one. Its size might give a miniscule advantage," he continued, oblivious to Mark's thoughts.
"The medium-sized one has spears of ivory attached to its head, and a shell made out of the blood of its victims. It also has a secret weapon: A bomb. After it eats, it lets loose to remind all the other bugs out there that they could be next. A scare tactic, and a very effective one at that."
A coat made out of blood? Spears? Bombs? What was this, the Twilight Zone? This was just too bizarre.
"And then there's the small one. Don't let its size fool you, though, it's just as dangerous as the other two." The old man rambled on. Did these nightmares never end?
"It can sniff out the tiniest of bugs from miles away, and is able to dig them up from the deepest of burrows with its razor-sharp claws. Its shell isn't too remarkable, except for the black stripes. Supposedly, it killed so many creatures that death couldn't contain them all, and the black spirits of the underworld bled out into our realm, and stained its coat black."
Dear Lord, that one sounded the worst. At least he seemed to be safe here.
Well, as safe as he could get with these freakish…things all around him. It wasn't natural, it wasn't real. It wasn't supposed to be this way, he wasn't supposed to be this way! God, why were these disgusting creepers in his home? And what had they done to his home, what had they brought to his home? Because this had to be his home, because there wasn't any logical explanation as to why he would be somewhere else, so this had to be his home, right? Right?
Another one of those creatures bumped into him, rubbing his side with its scaly wings. Ugh. Mark shuddered and tried to sidle closer to the wall where the old man was staring off into space. He appeared to muttering to himself under his breath. No surprise there, the old fart was a child of the devil and crazy.
This was not happening. If he told himself that enough, it was true. That was logic at its most base form. Everyone knew that! And he'd read something about alternate realities overlapping his on some website. And everything on the Internet was true.
Mark looked around at all the demonic things scuttling around as if they mattered. He hated just looking at them, but maybe he could use them to his advantage. They seemed at ease in this nasty place, and he didn't have a clue as to what he was doing here or what he needed to do to survive. So maybe it would be beneficial for him to stick close to these things, at least for now.
After all, it seemed it was a bug eat bug world out there. And now…he was one of them.
SOOO? What do you think? The first chapter of my first request, done! Tell me what you think, you like, you hate, you had for dinner- I'm open to all of it!
And to those of you reading this message to review and instead just go back to the story archives: I curse you with bugs in your beds!