Jitimai- Rewritten

"But out of the darkness of this tragedy, we shall rise to greet the dawning of a new era, in which lion and hyena come together- in a great, and glorious future!"

Okay, let's backtrack a little.

Hi, I'm Nala. Yes, it's nice to meet you too. At any rate, I was betrothed to Simba, the son of the King Mufasa. Unfortunately, I never got to take over the throne because both Simba and Mufasa died in a stampede when Simba was very young. It sort of sucked. And you see, when the King and the King's heir died, Mufasa's brother had to take over. Mufasa's brother's name was Scar, and he was an insensitive jerk.

Get the picture? Good.

This might seem a bit sudden to you, now that I think about it. You begin reading a story, and you expect it to be like all the others- you're expecting it to start out slow, and get faster and faster until the plot is finally revealed to you. Don't worry, you're not alone. I was expecting the same thing. Well, not really with the story- I meant with my own life. So if it seems a little sudden to you that you begin reading a story and, right off the bat, some evil jerkface talks about unity in a somewhat frightening fashion, I'm with you. Trust me, I was even more surprised.

Okay, I think I might be getting a little ahead of myself. Remember when I talked about my fiancee being killed in a stampede? Along with the ruler of our kingdom? All in one day? Yeah. As a reader, you probably don't really care about that. They're not Nala- they're not the main characters. They're just the side plots. It's like non-canons- nobody cares what happens to them, it all happened off-screen. Or... well, page.

I think this might make more sense to you if I explained the roles Simba and Mufasa led in my life. Here goes.

So anyway, not so long ago, I was an exceedingly happy person. Well, lion. Oh well. Same difference. At any rate, exceedingly happy, not a person, blah blah blah, because I had a best friend, Simba, and all my life was planned out. I would grow up to be the queen of my kingdom, and stand on the beautiful promontory of Pride Rock with the rest of the kingdom bowing and cheering before me. It sounds nice, doesn't it?

Well that's what I grew up with. And let me stress the exceedingly happy part. And let's not forget Simba. Simba was practically my life. We were the best of friends, did everything together, and could tell each other anything. It sounds nice? It was nice.

And then there was Scar. He was an okay sort of lion. Kept to himself a lot of the time, but occasionally he'd surprise me. And I think he and my mother have some sort of history, as she seems to talk about him a lot, and every time he comes around here he gets this weird dreamy expression and, er, has to go away for a while. I prefer not to ask about things like that.

Scar was kind of an ugly sort of lion. He had a darker complexion than most, with a telltale engraving across his eye, and a flat black mane. However, sometimes he would saunter in the direction of my mother. He would be timid at first, but my mother was always happy to see him and as soon as he recognized this he would become more courageous. He'd call her name, "Sarafina" in a loving sort of way, and that would be dazzling. Scar was a very rude sort of creature, and most of his words had a bored and sarcastic tone. However, when he spoke my mother's name- Sarafina or anything else, he had plenty of nicknames for her that I didn't understand- his tone was cheerful, dazzling and bordering dainty. And in these moments he seemed almost charming.

He had a daughter, called Kipusa. Not sure how that happened, but I think it involved a one night stand, crazy naked sex and possibly a stork. Kipusa had always interested me. She was short and almost scrawny like her father, and with his dark features, but a certain brightness seemed to occupy her presence. I suppose that was sort of ironic, as Kipusa was far from bubbly or cheery, always cooped up on Scar's side of the cave, bawling over her miserable little life.

All the same, we were friends for a little while. But that seemed to end on a day when Scar came to my mother's side not in the playful and charming way of usual but as a complete wreck and, well, at that point my mother made me leave the rock. I just guessed that she was dead, bawled against a rock for a few minutes before gathering myself and going to find Simba. I wouldn't be surprised if it was Mufasa who killed her.

After Kipusa's death Scar and I sort of became friends. Well, that might be a little too strong of a word, but he came around more often and sometimes we'd hang out. We didn't usually do much. We'd just sit there, and he'd look at me with an expression that was... well, not. Well, I'm not entirely sure he was looking at me. His eyes were in my direction, but they just seemed so... empty. Like, far away. Like his body was here but his mind was in another world. I do that sometimes, like the time when Simba swallowed a rock and I spent near an hour reminiscing about an addiction I once had with eating grass. Please don't ask.

Anyway, he'd look at me like that and I would feel unnerved and occasionally we would talk. I'd ask him what he was doing, or thinking about, and he'd usually answer somewhat reluctantly. He rarely started the conversation, unless he was telling me how much I looked like my mother. It was weird when he said that. He did it a lot, but he'd always look away right after that. I think he was ashamed or something, but I'm not sure why.

But sometimes, he wanted to do something different. Scar would race me to the fields of the Pridelands. Most grown lions will run slowly so their cubs can beat them to the finish line. No, Scar was competitive. I liked it that way. As far as I was concerned, it let me know if was really improving. Because of this, I never wanted to race with Mom, and she so often asked me, "Why do you only ever race with Scar?"

My answer would always simply be, "I just don't want to, okay?"

Because Mom would race like every other adult races with their child. And I wanted Scar.

When we would reach the fields, usually I would dive to the ground, rolling upon my backside. Scar often would lay beside me, not doing much of anything, just there. And I grew to look forward to these days of doing, well, nothing. He was a nice guy, or so I thought.

But there he was; apparently the same lion that did such wonderful things on my behalf. There was the lion I had grown to trust -- almost love. On the promontory Pride Rock, he stood. Commanding, triumphant, tyranny standing on the throne he had selfishly proclaimed.

So there I sat, crouched between my mother's paws. The occasional shudder shook my small frame and tears fell across features usually painted in a world of glee. And my mother comforted me, as did the other lionesses. Not because I was special, or because they felt any more sorry for me than anyone else- they weren't really consoling me so much as the whole pride.

At any rate, after a few minutes of vicious, chilling cackling from Scar and his repulsive hyena minions- what kind of a self-respecting lion hires hyenas anyway?- Scar continued his speech. "Now, I believe it is custom," he began with a smirk, "to dispose of all cubs born under the former King's rule, is it not?"

This confused me. Let me remind you that I was raised in a fairy tale, candy-mountain sort of world, and this death concern was an entirely new issue to me. At that young age, I didn't really understand that it was possible for more than two people to die in one day. But at Scar's words, my mother started to quiver and I heard her whisper, "What? No! God, no- he can't take Nala!"

Fear has an assortment of paces. Sometimes it just creeps into you in a revolting sort of way. Other times it'll go faster. And the sound of my mother's words, and the realization that accompanied them, forced the fear in faster than it ever had come before... like a flood. Why? Now I knew the truth. Scar, my former friend, was going to kill me. How could he do that? And why? Didn't we used to be friends? And, you know, besides the whole morality issue, death? I've heard it's not fun.

But the tyrant was through talking. Now, smirk stretching from ear to ear, he descended Pride Rock and made his way to the center of our circle. And it angered me to think that once this circle was filled with so much cheer... but now, the "C" and the "H" had been discarded and replaced with an "F," and an "A" took the place of the second "E." It spelled "FEAR." And it was much less pleasant.

And King Scar with his devilish ways came closer to us all. Closer, closer. Eight steps, seven, six... "No, please," my mother's voice came again. "Take me with her! Take me instead- just let Nala stay!" And when I heard her words, my optics, already stained with tears, bled in their salty, transparent way once again.

Five, four, three- and he was in the middle of our circle now, his eyes focused on a lioness seated only steps from my mother. A cub, a female, darker than I, sat between her paws, whimpering and shuddering in fear. So this was what the moment before the murder looked like. It was kind of depressing, really.

Two, one. And Scar snarled before taking a slash at Lady Singa's young one. I'd never known the cub- Kai, I think her name was- but I felt horror and disgust at her latest fate.

"You monster!" Sarabi, Mufasa's former wife, cursed, from several yards away. "How could you! King Mufasa did away with that law- why on earth would you want to reinforce it?"

Scar- or the lion I thought was Scar- only cackled devilishly. He took Kai's neck in his teeth, swaying her about like a chew toy I once had. Except the sight was so much more sickening than my chew toys, or anyone else's... even Simba's (remind me to tell you about that some time). And Scar dropped the dead cub on the ground, whereupon she flopped, utterly and disgustingly motionless.

After Scar assassinated another- this time a male, younger than me and wailing, so completely helpless- I knew I was next. "No, Scar, you can't," my mother begged. "After all we meant each other- how could you?" She was sobbing now, and screeching like me when Scar's teeth fastened around the scruff of my neck.

I trembled with fear unlike anything I'd ever felt. He was going to do it. He was really going to kill me. Right there, in front of my mother, in front of my own pride- they were all going to see my murder, bloody and gory and entirely repulsive.

Tears poured from my eyes once more. I thought of everything that ever mattered to me- of my mother, of the father I dreamed about but never knew, and of Simba. And finally, of the Scar I used to know. The friend I once had. And I thought, fearfully enough to be worth the mention, of what would become of the pride under his rule. But before I could think of anything else, he struck.

I don't really remember much more of that night. Although, I'm pretty sure it involved some fear, and pain, and helplessness, and possibly some angst. Likely.

In fact, the next few weeks seemed to pass by in a blur. I didn't even think about the practical sorts of things- would I ever be queen, would I survive under Scar's rule, why had I survived that long- because I was trapped in that strange loop you become a part of when someone you cared about dies. It's not depression, it's not confusion... it's not really much of anything, actually. You probably know what I'm talking about. After Simba and Mufasa's death, I spent weeks trapped inside this indescribable boredom. Nothing made sense, and music sounded like silence, and silence, that void which we call silence, was the ruler of my world.

During this aforementioned... well, I'm not really sure how long it was, I never left my corner of the cave. I think I slept for most of the time, dreamlessly except for that bizarre silence and the void, although I can't really remember. All I know is that I eventually pulled myself out of it. And I'm pretty sure I know why.

After all that time stuck inside my own head, I didn't want to live there anymore. There was less silence in the real world, and I wanted to go out there. I wanted to hear voices, to feel emotions and to try to live my life, with or without the ones I'd lost. So I forced myself out of the pit I'd been pushed into, and now I'm here to tell the tale.

And after the void came the questions. First came the depressing ones- why Simba and Mufasa, why'd it have to be them, and why does it have to mean anything to me... blah blah blah, we've heard them all before. And then came the more practical set of questions. Chief among them, why did Scar spare me? He'd made it pretty clear when he started talking about murder- all the cubs born under Mufasa's rule. So why was I alive?

At any rate, not more than a week following my wake up call, I was standing on a rock when Sarabi approached me. Sarabi was dead Simba's mother. I thought I was depressed, she was probably a wreck.

"My late son would have had a birthday today," she said. "Happy birthday, Simba."

Suddenly feeling intimidated, I felt the need to share my pain as well. Isn't it weird when that happens? You feel all intimidated and inferior because you're not entirely depressed? "I miss him," I said, feebly and somewhat pathetically.

Sarabi sighed and transferred her glance to my eyes. "So do I, Nala. And Mufasa. And the land."

I didn't really know what that meant. How exactly could she miss the land if we were still in the land? Still feeling uncomfortable, and in need of conversation, "What do you mean? We're still here!" I protested.

"Nala, look at the land now."

She was right. The flowers were dying, the leaves were falling and dying, the animals were dying. The air that surrounded us was arid and hot, to a point in which the most moisture came from our own sweat.

"Everything is dead or dying. Our misery has spread beyond us all, now the land is feeling it too."

Well that was depressing. I didn't really know what to say to that, so I just sighed reluctantly and tried to look depressed. I guess Sarabi ran out of ideas too, because after a while she just left in a melancholy sort of way.

It wasn't a very long or significant conversation, so I'm not sure why the recollection of it seems in the slightest bit important to me. But, sensibly or otherwise, I've always regarded it as one of my more important memories.

After Sarabi left my side, I spent a significant time just sitting there and not doing much of anything. It wasn't like the void- no, that was completely different. I wasn't emotionless, although to describe exactly what made up my emotions at that moment would be far from easy. And it wasn't depression either. I think I wanted to move from that spot, to go- to be- anywhere but there, but for whatever reason, I didn't just get up and leave. Have you ever done that? Wanted to do something else but been unable to pry yourself away from... well, nothing?

Obviously, the feeling passed, because before I knew it a few days had gone by and I was back to my constant "why me?" banter.

I could go on for hours about my visits to Scar's lair, the empty almost-conversations between me and my mother, and even about said banter, but after a while the stories would all start to sound the same. Nothing really changed for, well, years. It was ten years before anything remarkable happened.

Time danced about us for that long, boring ten years and the only thing that really changed was me. I don't mean mentally, or emotionally, or anything overly used and lame like that. I was young at the beginning of Scar's rule, and I got older. Ten years made me an adult, at least physically. I mean, some people say only experiences can lead to growth, and I didn't experience much of anything. So really, I was still some dumb little cub.

Did I say that I was the only thing that changed? Sorry, I lied. Something else changed, too- the land. Our once green and plentiful land was dry and bare. And hot. Oh my yes, hot. The ground was so covered with dust we were constantly picking up our paws and fanning them off with slivers of red, only to begin frantically spitting in disgust.

One day I was again sent to Scar's lair, to beg for mercy, for help. After being wished "good luck" from my peers, I timidly began my way to the top of Pride Rock. When I reached the destination in question, I could hear the king yelling on and on about entirely ridiculous things.

"With a queen, I'll have cubs..." a pause for drama, "immortality will be mine!"

I don't recall walking in. I didn't even realize I had until the deed was done. Next thing I knew, "Scar," in a challenging voice, flowed from my lips.

The lion in question, dirty and disgusting as ever, turned to face me at a pace I marveled at for a few short seconds before he spoke as well. "Nala! Your timing couldn't be more perfect." The tone changed and I felt disgusted, "My... how you've grown!"

I didn't really know what I was saying until I heard it, and for the first few seconds I didn't even realize I was the one saying it. "Scar, you have to do something. We're being forced to over-hunt!" I was proud. I'd stood up to the less-than-mighty King Scar, and I live to tell the tale.

The pride was soon replaced by confusion, however. Scar was talking more to himself, now, and it was almost as if he were singing. "She's got those assets feminine" (I continued protesting) "I have to make her mine! Nobility in every gene! She has to be my queen."

Dancing. There was dancing. King Scar was dancing with me! I could lie- pretend to be noble- and say that I was disgusted, that I refused to dance and retained my few tattered shreds of dignity. But I didn't, and I wasn't. I kind of liked it, actually. Whether I knew it or not, a smile found its way onto my face. I wasn't like I like the person I was dancing with- far from it- but I'd never danced before. No one had ever had the decency, the affection, the gender, quite frankly, to dance with me. If I was going to be flirty or sweet with someone I'd always imagined it as Simba, but now that he was gone, Scar was the only one left. It was repulsive and degrading, but somehow, I was flattered.

"Come, sweet Nala. It's written in the stars- we'll create a host of little Scars!"

Lucky for me, these words brought me tumbling back down to earth. I almost wanted to be with him- to give in, to be loved for once after ten years of loneliness. But luckily enough for me, that voice that wasn't my own continued to spill from my jaws.

"Tell me I'm adored," the tyrant said.

No, Scar, tell me I'm adored. We both wanted the same thing, or so it seemed- to be loved, to be somehow brought away from this hell and thrust into life as it was before. And I'd take it- from him, or anybody. I suppose that makes me desperate, or shallow, or something like that, but in the moment I really didn't care. But instead, all I could say was how much I hated him, and how he needed to, well, not do this.

"Tell me I'm ador--"

But that subconsiuous side of me took over. Before I knew I'd done it, I had sharply ran my claws over his right eye. Scar groaned, lowering himself, nearly crumpling to the ground and clutching the right side of his face. "Oh... Nala..." The voice was the mad voice of the king, yes, but a sad voice. A voice of mourning and sorrow. A voice that longed for me, but... whatever it was... told me so otherwise.

"You know how I loathe violence..." Releasing his paws to reveal a blood-stained face, he said, "One way or another, you will be mine!"

But, in contrast to my own desires, all I could say was, "Never, Scar! Never!"

I left, still looking back with sorrow.

"You belong to me," he said with a bizarre, King Scar-like version of sureness, and I looked back, again, in longing for his warmth. "You all belong to me..." And he let out a scream, then falling to the ground to mourn his loss.

I didn't really know what I wanted, but whatever the case, I needed to leave. Leave the lair, leave the pridelands, maybe even leave the planet if I could.

There's more to my story, but I don't really want to tell it now. Simba wasn't dead, and we came back to the pridelands and lived happily ever after. There's not way I can tell that story without the rest of tale crumbling to shreds and falling away to this lovely, if sappy ending. And this story isn't about that. It's not about triumph, love, happiness... it's not even about me.

That's why it would be hypocritical to finish the story. It's about the horror. Hey, I didn't say it was a happy story.

A/N: I apologize to all of you hopeless romantics (you know who you are xP) who, needless to say, weren't pleased with the ending. But honestly, this story could have ended one of two ways- the canon way, where Nala and Simba end up together. And that would portray Nala as being insanely shallow. Or, I could I have put Nala and Scar together, but then the story never really would have ended. So I think it's just utterly meaningless unless I don't end it at all XP