That Little Hairball...
Summary :: You'll recognize the characters. A lion reflects on whether he should have killed another...
Disclaimer :: It's Disney's, not mine.
Notes :: ((gasp)) "Another one of my starring-Scar fics" is it? Yup. And, not an exception to the ongoing "ceremony" of the Scar joke deals.
I dedicate this fanfic to my sixth-grade teacher,
for helping me learn to write so
powerfully. Thank you,
my helper.
Much as I hate him, the thought still lingers in my mind. He's an annoying brute, I know that, I've known that since the day Mufasa announced that Sarabi was pregnant with him! I've known that since the day I had to cubsit him before he was old enough to do anything, and he cried the whole time and bit my tail! I worked hard to keep that tail in shape! It'll never be the same again... now that he ruined it. Then why do I wonder whether he should be disposed of or not? Of course he should! He's annoying, he took my place! If when I kill Mufasa (which I will definitely do) I kill Simba too, I'll be king! What could go wrong then? If I kill him, the others will adore me! I'll be adored, thought of as superior to Mufasa, at last! Then why does it still linger in my mind?
Sure, he's annoying, boring, strange, and in my place, but he's kind of cute. He liked me, wasn't scared of me like the other cubs. What does that have to do anything? Oh, Scar old buddy, you've lived "alone" too long. You've not been loved too long. Why does it matter if he likes me? If I kill him, they'll all like me! More than he did! They'll adore me, adore me as a king! I'll be that rare and awesome thing, not some stupid, ugly, disco-show-off golden brute! Won't that be better than having an annoying nephew who's in my place but sort of likes me? For some reason, my mind keeps saying "no." Why?
Pull yourself out of it, Scar. Sure, he's cute and all, but he's in your place! Not to mention that pure fact, that he's a cub. Cubs are annoying. If I kill Mufasa and not him, I'll never be king! He'll be the king! And I'll be stuck being some royal babysitter! What would Shenzi think? What would Kwajuka think? What would Ed -- the real Ed, not that slobbering brain-damaged version my idiot father created -- think? I saved Ed's life, he'd probably think me an idiot if I didn't kill Simba and only did Mufasa. Even Monty, my arch enemy though all the same my brother, what would he think? He loves Mufasa and Simba. But... What would he think if I killed both of them?
Why does it matter what Monty, Ed, Shenzi, Kwajuka... what anyone would think? I'm supposed to be a villain! I'm supposed to be heartless, cruel, mean... famous for my terrible deeds, but I'm not. What kind of a villain am I anyway, to think twice about killing that brute Simba? He's a jerk, a dork, an annoying brute. I know that! I've always known that. Then why does it still linger in my mind?
What would I be thought of as if I failed my only job; to be evil and to be a villain? A piece of scum. Although, that wouldn't really be a step down, I'm already a piece of scum to my family, to my pride, to my brother... even to myself. I could always just kill myself, but then again, that's not a very villain-like act, is it?
He jumped on me one day; and bragged about being future king. I decided I'd had enough, so I sent my hyenas after him and... Nala. The one I don't wish to kill. Still, Mufasa saved both cubs and my hyenas failed. I came up with an all new plan. I got a little carried away, too. Have you ever been so caught up in your momentary joy that you forgot yourself?
Today is the day. Today is the day that I have to kill him. Both of them. I had to play a trick on him again, lie to him again. This is the day I've been waiting so long for. Then why do I feel so horrible? I stagger to the top of the gorge, my vision teary and in a blurr. Why do I feel so this way? It's never happened before in my entire life. Why do I have such a hard time killing them? I've always dreamed of this day, but then why do I regret it so?
There he is. Climbing up the wall, hanging on for dear life. Suddenly, all my unsureness is replaced with pure anger. He reaches the top and cries the help of me. The moment I always waited for. The only moment I'll ever see where Mufasa looks up at me. The moment when he's the low one. Sure, he's the strong one and all, but look who's dying now!? I dig my claws deep within his skin, drawing blood. It surrounds my claws, a precious feeling, warmth... warm flesh and blood. My brother, the one who's shadow looms over me... the flesh of my brother. And I throw him. I throw him, I throw him to his death.
For several moments I am blinded by sorrow. The scene; Mufasa falling to his death; flashes at me, repeating itself. I lay a paw over my throbbing face; my throbbing head; my throbbing scar. Does it really hurt so much to kill? In these moments, I can't lift myself, I can hardly move; I breathe so deeply, so in agony, shivering from fear and a chilling drop in body temperature, and at the same time sweating. Sweating like mad. Like mad. Like mad. Like mad. Like mad. Mad. Disordered, not sane.
They say I'm heartless. That I am cold in spirit, and distasteful. I'm not! So I killed Mufasa, but I regretted it, didn't I? I meant to kill him and all, but I didn't get it then! I suppose I'm not really a villain, for I have feelings and soul better than most of the others in this uncaring pride.
They all think that all I said at Pride Rock, my 'I'm the new king' speech, was a complete lie. Only a fraction of it was a lie. They all think that I lied about Mufasa and Simba's death being a deep, personal loss. They think I was trying to hide myself, and make the pride adore me. That I was trying to convince the pride. More than that, I was trying to convince myself. I was a villain, not a cub. I was supposed to be strong, able to withstand any emotional pain that I could come across; I was supposed to be never faced with pain of any kind; whether it be physical or emotional. Then what kind of a villain am I? To suffer through hard times, to let my personality argue freely?
Day after day I regret my decision. Why did I kill them? It didn't do any good anyway. I was wrong. How could I be so stupid as to think that being king would make me adored? I'm still not adored. They still hate me the same way. But it's just worse, because I have more negative attention. Because I have work that I don't know how to tend to. That I can't tend to, because of my agony. I've never been one to express my unbearable pain, neither emotional or even physical, and so I let myself suffer. They all could tell by looking at my depressingly messed figure that something was wrong, but they wouldn't understand even if I told them. Especially not those bozo hyenas. They seem to be the only ones who I could possibly consider my friends; but even they only come to visit anymore to complain. What have I done to myself? What have I, the famous villain Scar, become?
A part of me thinks perhaps I shouldn't have killed them. That everything would be better -- at least more bearable -- that way. But how would something like that help me? I'd just be back in my old life... unbearable as well. But could it, perhpas, have been better than this?! I don't know how to fend for myself. I never replenish myself, for I can't. I don't eat, I don't drink, (except for alcohol and the occasional water) I don't excercize... I torment myself. But what use would it be not to? What have I to keep living for? There's nothing to live for, but I am afraid of death. Afraid to die. Afraid to join my father, my brother, my nephew... my mother whom I never knew. And Kwajuka... the first to care for me. But what could that do to me? Everyone always says the Great Kings look down on us from those stars. I'm sure Mufasa, and perhaps even Simba are up there. But me? I'm hardly considered a great king. I don't help my pride, I don't care for my followers, I never do a thing to help. For what would it help anyway? I'm just that scumbag that messes everything up anyway. If I were to help, all it would ever do is make things worse. Perhaps I underestimated what being king was all about. I thought it would be luxury, I thought they'd all adore me, see me for who I was. Or rather, who I always wanted to be but never will become. For the lionesses are right and I wrong. Maybe I am just a scumbag, never one to help. Everything I touch is ruined. As a fool's pleasure, I attempt to do small things. It never works anyway. I suppose I was never meant to be king of pride rock. They say fate does this to us. I have messed with fate, and therefore I suppose I must be punished for the rest of my life. Why must the rules of life be this way? What is the point in it? Why must there be some of us more fortunate and essentially "better" than others? And why must I be at the lowest stage of life one can be?
Life is supposed to be the greatest gift one is ever blessed with. But what's so great about life? All I'm ever to do is mope, mourn, nearly die in my attempted abilities to make it more worthwhile.
Oh, Simba. If only you had lived long enough, lad. You would know so much more than I ever learned. I'm sure you would have been a wonderful king. If only I'd known how to appreciate you.
But Simba was not dead. He returned, one day. Why did I fight so brutally against him, to keep my place as king, when everything had been so horrible? Why did I fight against my nephew? As suspected, I lost. But I deserved it. I deserved to lose. I deserved what I got. I deserved to be thrown to the hyenas, eaten alive. My vision goes blurry, for only the sec-third now time in my life. I can hear the ripping of flesh from bone. And I'm sure they feel so satisfied as I did that day I sunk my claws into Mufasa's skin. If only I could tell them how much they will regret it...