Chapter 11.
This is the eleventh chapter. Hope you enjoy it. A vaccine has been given to some of the elderly these past few days in the UK! Great news!
Simba, meanwhile, was still with Timon and Pumbaa. He was still in the woods where he'd joined them, living and farming with them, and occasionally listen to music tapes (sent from America), as if he were family. However, their lifestyle was kind of lazy and carefree. Ever since they met, they've become best friends, the three of them as Simba grew. He was now a fully grown man, with slightly long tan hair, a slender and muscular body, his skin now no longer sunburned and back to its original tanned complexion, and wore a black unzipped leather jacket over a red shirt and jeans, and boots. Timon and Pumbaa (now in their mid-thirties) have barely changed at all, except their clothes. Plus, they all wear boots. Timon wore his own unzipped leather jacket (the three of them had sort of become punks, dressing like them) with a khaki shirt and jeans. Pumbaa still had his leather jacket, over a black shirt, with dark blue jeans. They were currently walking next to each other in the woods, Simba on the left Pumbaa in between and Timon on the right.
"These last 11 years have been great, guys! But there something I don't understand; why don't we leave the woods and explore the outside world, or make new friends?" Simba asked them, his voice now deep and adult like. Timon looked at him. "Uh... well, you see, Simba, we...uh… swore not go back to the modern world. We want to live the rest of our lives in a carefree and peaceful way. And we've learned that there are 2 words to describe humans and Animals in this world: Predators and prey. We chose to be neither." He explained. "Yeah, I mean think about it. If you were a Lion, would you be best friends with an Antelope, would you?" Pumbaa asked Simba. "No, but that's besides the point." Simba replied. "Yes, it is. Because a Lion is predator and an Antelope is prey. And prey would never frolic with predator." Pumbaa explained further. "You see, pal, nature has a difficult balance." Timon said. "Oh, yeah, the circle of life. I know that." Simba said, the memory coming back instantly. "No, no. We don't know where your getting "circle" from. We're talking about something else. It's the opposite, a line." Timon said back. "The meaningless line of indifference. It starts when we're born, and our whole lives we just run towards the end of the line. Reach the end, that's it, line over, nothing, nada. You can do what you want and fend for yourself, since your line won't affect anyone else's line. If life was a circle, and we're all connected, everything I do would affect everything else. That would make life not cool. Simply put, life is meaningless." Pumbaa explained, but Simba didn't exactly get the gist of it. "You know what, Simba? I've just had a thought. Why don't you make a plan for us today? Think about all we've taught you. What do you want to do?" Pumbaa then asked Simba. "Absolutely nothing… but fun!" Simba answering, grinning, as he took of his leather jacket and jumped into a small pond of water right in front of them, landing with a splash. Timon and Pumbaa took there for a second, before taking of their jackets and jumping in after him.
A few hours later, they'd gotten out of the pond and dried off in the sun, and when night soon came, they all laid out in a clearing, lying on their backs and looking at the stars above them. Timon was on the right, Simba on the left, and Pumbaa in the centre. Simba had his leather jacket lying on his chest for warmth, (the sleeves not much use and were dangling by his sides) while Timon and Pumbaa still wore their jackets. "Hey, Timon, you ever look up and wonder what those sparkly dots are?" Pumbaa asked. "Oh, Pumba, I don't wonder. I know." Timon answered. "Really? What are they?" Pumbaa asked. "Their fireflies. Fireflies that got stuck on that big blue-ish black thing." Timon answered, though the answer wasn't correct. "Huh, I guess that makes sense. I always thought they were balls of gas burning billions of miles away. I remember something like that from school in America." Pumbaa said back, being correct. "Oh, Pumbaa, why is everything always gas with you?" Timon asked, rolling his eyes. "I know, sorry." Pumbaa replied. "What do you think, Simba?" Timon asked Simba. "Yeah?" Pumbaa also asked, as Simba placed his leather jacket closer to his neck. "Oh, I don't know. But somebody once told me the great kings of the past are up there, and their all watching over us." Simba answered. Silence filled the air for a few moments… until Timon and Pumbaa stifled with laughter. "That's a good one! That's insane! What is this, the middle ages? Are we Christians?" Pumbaa asked rhetorically while laughing. "Royal dead guys watching over us! Ha! I hope they don't fall out of the sky!" Timon laughed sarcastically. "Hang on your majesty! Don't let go!" Pumbaa cried loudly and sarcastically, as they both stopped laughing, Simba looking at them slightly upset. "Simba, think about it. Why would a bunch of kings be looking out for us? We're outcasts/farmers. I can't." Timon said. "I can't, I can't." Pumbaa added. "Yeah. Yeah, yeah, that's… that's stupid." Simba said slowly and sadly. "I'm gonna go to bed. See you guys in the morning." Simba said as he got up on his feet and put on his leather jacket. He felt sad because he felt they had insulted his father's memory. "You were right, dad. People don't believe that stuff anymore." He thought in his head. What Simba got out of sight, Timon and Pumbaa looked at each other with concern. "What's biting him?" Timon asked Pumbaa. "I don't know." Pumbaa answered. Maybe it's because you started laughing." Timon said. "You laughed too." Pumbaa said back. "Yes, but you were first, which made me do it." Timon said. "Oh, man, I blew it." Pumbaa mumbled as he looked up at the stars again.
At the farmhouse, Simba slept on the small bed with a small pillow and a white sheet that he, Timon, and Pumbaa had built for him. A gust of wind suddenly blew open on of the house windows, and his old khaki shirt, which he had kept and was lying folded up on the window side was swept into the air and was carried by the wind out the window. Amazing, the wind kept blowing it, all day long across the woods, across the desert, and to the ruined Pridelands. Finally, the wind, stop blowing, but with one last push with made the shirt land on a window. The window was suddenly pulled down and a frail black hand grabbed the shirt before it fell to the ground. The man turned out to be Rafiki, who was still alive. He had a lot of wrinkles on his face now, and his whole hair was now grey. He grasped the shirt in both his hands, began looing over it, and saw writing in black ink in the other side of the front hole. The writing was faded, but it was quite easy to make out the one word that was written "SIMBA". Rafiki's eyes suddenly widened. "Simba!" He said, before moving over to the old turned down picture on the mantle piece, now covered in dust. He lifted the frame up, chuckling, and blew off the dust off the picture. "Simba… is… alive!" He said, as he saw the old picture again. He fell on his knees, looking up at the ceiling and began shouting praises in Xhosa.
And that's the eleventh chapter. It is a bit short. I was feeling a bit pressured and pressed for time getting it finished. Sorry if not enough. Hope you enjoyed it. Please review. The next chapter will be out soon.