New Friends
The blazing, desert sun beat its cruel rays down on the small boy lying on his side on the hot, desert sand. Had Simba been conscious he would have noticed the wild dogs which had gathered around him for a free meal. Had Simba been conscious, he would have noticed that the ground was suddenly shaking. The dogs looked up from the body just in time to see an enormous truck emerge from behind a dune (by huge, I mean huge, it resembled an eighteen wheeler but was twice the height and twice the length, the only way to get to the drivers seat was via a long ladder from the door to the ground). The dogs ran for their lives just as the truck came to a stop, its enormous wheel inches from Simba's head. Two men slid down the ladders of the truck and hit the ground, "I love it," said one (this one was a bit overweight).
"Yes," said the other, "Chasing wild animals, this is a great way to spend my free time."
"Timon," said the fat one, "You had better come and check this out."
"What?" said Timon, "We've got a delivery to make and…oh my gosh."
He saw the ten year old boy lying about an inch away from the tire,
"Who is he?" asked the fat one.
"He's my great-grandson," said Timon sarcastically, "How am I supposed to know who he is?"
With that Timon checked the boy and analyzed the suit he was wearing, "Jeez," said Timon, "It's a royalist."
He ran to the truck, "In the truck, Pumbaa, drive, drive, drive."
"Timon," said Pumbaa, "He's just a kid, look at him, it looks like he's dehydrated, we need to help…can we keep him?"
"Are you saying these words?" asked Timon, "You're talking about a Royalist, the Royalists are hunting us."
"But, I repeat," said Pumbaa, "He's just a kid."
"What happens when he grows up?" asked Timon.
"He'll probably be on our side," responded Pumbaa.
"Yeah," said Timon, "Maybe he'll be our best friend, and give us help in our…I've got it: he'll grow up to be on our side."
Timon picked up the boy and handed him to Pumbaa and with difficulty, they hoisted the boy into the truck's driver compartment (it was a pretty neat and pretty big place, there was the two seats, a GPS, a joystick, a red button, another button…lots of buttons and two bunks, it was twice as big, high and wide as a big family car).
"What made you change your mind?" asked Pumbaa, as he started the truck.
"Change my mind about what?" asked Timon.
"About the kid."
"You didn't think I actually refused bringing the kid with us?"
"Never entered my mind for a moment."
When they reached the borders of a jungle, Timon brought a bucket of water; Pumbaa put a towel in it and damped the boy's face. Timon sighed and dumped the water on the boy's face, "Wake up, kid."
"Wha…What happened?" asked Simba as he looked up to the strangers (they were both dressed in sand-colored trench coats, black boots, white shirts, white jeans and cowboy hats).
"You nearly died," said Pumbaa.
"I saved you," said Timon, Pumbaa gave him a sharp look; "Of course you helped."
Pumbaa turned back to the kid and Timon made signals indicating that Pumbaa had only helped a little.
"Thanks for your help," said Simba, as he got slowly to his feet and walked towards a bunk and sat down.
"What's up, kid, where are you from?" asked Pumbaa.
"Who cares?" said Simba, "I can't go back."
"Great," said Timon, "You're an outlaw…just like us."
"What did you do, kid?" asked Pumbaa.
"I don't want to talk about it," said Simba, miserably.
"You know kid," said Timon, "Sometimes, you've got to…"
"Wait, Timon," said Pumbaa, "You've got to put your behind, in your past…that didn't come out the way I foresaw."
"I don't know what kind backward world you grew up in," said Timon, "Listen kid, it's: you've got to put your past, behind you. Sometimes bad things happen, and there's nothing you can do about it, right?"
"Right," said Simba.
"WRONG," said Timon, "When the world, society, your family and your friends turn their back on you, you turn your back on all of them. That's what I did."
"And I don't know what kind of sad world you grew up in," said Pumbaa, to Timon.
"Thanks, Pumbaa," said Timon.