HELL'S LOVELY

An idea addressed by many is the thought of what would happen if Mufasa survived the stampede. That's great and all, but I have a new idea... what if Scar didn't use the guilt trip on Simba out of fear he would find out the truth, thusly Simba returned to the pridelands with the murderous brute?

Some general notices; well, of course, "The Lion King," is not of my property and this fic was produced without rightful permission of Disney... but I'm sure ff . net has permission, aye? Hrm. At any rate, also... realize that I age the characters, mine and Disney's, in human years. This meaning that if a character were fourteen years old, that would be about as old as a fourteen-year-old human. People have bugged me about this before, so I thought I might make it clear to you. Another reminder — this takes place in Africa, so the seasons are opposite of my northern hemisphere buddies :)

On another note; I GOT A DIVIDER! Aren't y'all proud of me? Now you can tell when I'm switching "scenes!" Ain't that terrific? -Purr- Yehh whatever.

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The air surrounding was cluttered with dust. Its hue was that of smokewash'd, a sickly yellow tint accenting it. At this, the sense of sight went wild locating landmark objects; some of those being dead trees, gorge walls, lone wildebeests, and a large golden heap at the base of a partially fallen tree.

Coughing, blinking rapidly, a small blur of golden made his way about the dull and darkened gorge. He was quite frightened, and slightly agitated, as he was in quite the hurry about the place yet could not find his way. Fear, however, was his main component. Pelt lay flat against his form, eyes large with terror. He roamed his small area, almost desperately, for long. More fearful by the second, he repeatedly called, "Dad!"

He was a lion cub, one of royalty, called Simba. His uncle Scar had taken him to the gorge, saying his father had a surprise to show Simba. He coaxed Simba to stay on a small rock in the gorge, and went off, apparently to find Mufasa. However, a stampede started and Simba was left defenseless among the bolting wildebeests.

Though he had no idea how it had happened, the terror-stricken lion had seen his father plummeting from high above directly into the wildebeest stampede and against the ground, a seemingly endless fall... and then he'd lost track of the grand lion.

Now he struggled about in the dark, in panic at what may have become of Mufasa. A wildebeest bolted by, to which he cringed. The animal cleared the dust surrounding a dead tree.

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The next few minutes, hours, days went by so quickly for Simba. Mufasa was dead. Sarabi and Scar took over kingly duties, and his training intensified. Next thing the frightened cub knew, he was being snuggled in Sarabi's arms, the third night after his father's death. Until then, the young lion had felt trapped in nothingness, he had heard nothing, felt nothing, saw nothing, But for some reason in this moment he snapped back to reality. He knew everything that had happened, perhaps better than any other, even though most of the time he had been trapped in his nothing world.

It was still evening, not yet night as darkness had not swallowed the heavens into its wrath, and so Simba scrambled from his mother's arms and walked, almost robot-ishly, toward two lionesses. One was a cream color, very dainty and smiling warmly as she held the other engulfed within her. The other was much smaller, young, a cub, and was a near replica of the larger. She was squeezed toward the other, eyes closed and the same smile as held the former. The older was Sarafina, the younger her daughter Nala.

"Hey Nala," said Simba. It was a phrase he'd been saying since he could talk, and so the tone matched perfectly with what it would've been before Mufasa's death. He didn't want the loss to appear to bother him... much as it did.

"Hi Simba," replied Nala, orbs parting and her smile growing to a grin.

"Uhm... hi." Simba shifted his weight uncomfortably, hoping Nala could grasp what he wanted of her.

"Oh," uttered Nala, apparently receiving just what Simba had hoped for. "Ah, Mom? Can I go with Simba here?"

Sarafina shifted her gaze to the two cubs. Noticing the pleading on Simba's features, she nodded gracefully and set her daughter free from her nearly voracious motherly grasp.

Nala looked toward Simba, expecting the usual; a grin, a bound, and a shriek of, "YES!" Simba looked toward Nala as well, as though asking whether to take such measures. Nala nodded apprehensively, and, though rather late, Simba made an attempt to do just that. Clearly, his attempt to remain as usual had failed.

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However, receiving an invitation to do such by Nala, he ran after his best friend as they bounded to a haven of theirs concerning a cluster of rocks and trees. Reaching this place of mention, the two sat upon a rock sheltered by the shade of a tree above. Both felt awkward, and they simply gave half-hearted giggles and sincere smiles to each other.

Finally Nala spoke. "So uhm... how are you taking it?"

"What?" Simba responded, though he knew exactly what she was talking about.

"You know..." Nala did not wish to make her response sound offensive in the least, and the very concept filled her with fear. "I'm sure you know what I'm talking about?"

Simba drooped. "Say it," he commanded of his companion.

Giving a sigh and regaining her half-hearted smile, Nala continued. "You know..." she felt so hesitant to blurt it. "Mufasa's death." Perhaps her response was several notches quieter and more quickly than she had intended.

"Oh," said Simba dryly, "yeah, that..."

"So, how are you taking it?"

"Ok," the young lion lied, "I - I'm fine, really."

Nala wasn't convinced. She moved several inches closer to her friend, pulling his head to face her and giving him a concerned look. "Sure?" she asked.

The golden-furred one gave yet another sigh. "Yeah," he nodded, then more quietly, "I guess."

Nala caught his final remark, "you guess?" she asked with a half-hearted chuckle. "Simba, it's fine, you don't have to be taking it well..."

"Yes I do," Simba said, rather immediately. "I'm nearly twelve years old... I don't need to be an immature cry cub."

This time, Nala's giggle was real, though brief and feeble. "Simba... it's called death. This isn't a normal time... you don't need to remember about being twelve years old and all that. You just lost your father."

"I'm so sick of everyone giving me so much sympathy and stuff! I don't want it, I'm fine, ok? I'm strong, I'm the willing and able future King of the Pridelands! I'm not a softy!" Simba's features were wrinkled, and his expression foul by now. He was creased by anger.

Nala stood now, making her appear taller and more able than Simba. "I was just trying to help, so cool it!"

"Cool it?" Simba mocked, "one moment you tell me I can be as upset as I want and now you want me to cool it?" He was standing as well by now.

"Hey, chill, ok? This is getting ugly fast."

Simba sighed, lowering haunches to sit, and stared toward the terra below. Yes, Nala was right, but... he couldn't help it. It was like he hadn't the energy to be kind, only to be nasty. He felt impatient, and exhausted, and overly heated (the weather was quite foul as it was approaching January). So many times in the last few days he had held back tears... and now because of this cranium had begun to pain him, for he knew not how much longer he could hold it all in. What a foul feeling... unlike any he'd ever witnessed before. Like Nala said, it was probably called "death."

"I know, Nala... I'm kind of scared, and sad right now, as in, I don't know what I should do. I've never felt this way before — and it's awful and I hate it!"

Nala gave Simba a playful nudge, making sure to knock him from the rock. Before he could arise from his fetal position against the ground below, Nala leapt upon him, pinning the young lion. A smile... one weak, but most certainly real, had crept its way onto her maw.

"Hey, it's ok. We're all kind of sad right now, Simba, this is a really hard time for us," she reminded her friend, "but you know what? I think you're handling it beautifully."

Simba didn't look convinced. A frown was still etched upon his features. "You think so?" he said, a spark of hope accenting his tones.

"You bet I do! It's only natural for us to be sad, Simba... but hey, we all have different ways of handling it. Yours is real sophisticated like, trying to keep it to yourself... and hey, I think that's a whole lot more courageous than crying continuously. I mean, I want to be sad and all but," she paused, grinning now, "life goes on."

"I don't need a lecture," said Simba irritably, pulling from Nala's grasp and beginning to walk away, "I already know you're smarter than me."

Nala frowned, watching Simba turn off. "Well, that wasn't how I intended it but —" and she sighed, deeming it useless and hanging her cranium.