1¾«Ù0223445à=Ð/ÿÿ  2À!8¨9ÐÐ The Bastard Son Michael Poncé “When did it all start?” Scar thought to himself, waking as he had almost every day his entire life. Alone and shaking off the cold the rocks in his cave emanated, he stood to his feet. “Why did it all start?” he asked as he unknowingly voiced aloud his question. The answers, he knew he’d never know but the constant tinge that he was born an afterthought always stuck with him. His true name was all but a cruel indicator to it. Walking out onto what could be called the doorstep to his place of retreat, the lion sat his hindquarters down and looked discontentedly at the smooth surface of the rocky slab. A small ant scurried about, going about its morning business and caught Scar’s attention. Dancing a claw around the tiny creature, he refrained from smashing it and rose up, leaving and walking northeast. “You’ll find living is more cruel than any death.” he said addressing the ant. After a slow uninterrupted trip, Scar made his way onto the plains and into a small thicket of trees. Entering passively, oblivious to any dangers that awaited, he spotted a thick tree angled slightly upwards and after a few seconds of putting his slightly underdeveloped muscles into use, was up on a branch large enough to support him. Laying down, he crossed his paws under his head and blinked his eyes slowly, only opening them halfway each time. He began to think. He was seen as a useless member of his pride and treated as such so thinking became his mainstay to keeping his sanity. Sighing, he wondered what he had done to be in his position. His brother, who he envied more than he himself even knew, was due to have his son born shortly. It was news Scar didn’t welcome. He was hoping secretly Mufasa would die and then he himself would be heir to the throne, but with the coming birth of Simba, that last thread of hope, of being able to be important finally in his life, was severed. Thinking back further in his life, he remembered growing up. He remembered from an early age that he was somewhat looked upon as if he wasn’t supposed to have been where he was. He was often ignored and his questions either unheard or left unanswered. It hurt him deeply for his brother was waited on hand and foot. It was this that planted the seed of anger deep within Scar, then Taka, the rubbish lion, as he was often called behind his back. He wasn’t deaf, but he had wondered who first gave him his dirty nickname. Taka had been a name he always had been curious of how he had acquired. Asking his father once when the king was ready to sleep, he yawned and half asleep anyway, told his son in the morning. That morning never came for his simple question had gone unanswered each time he asked. As he grew, the seed of hate born in him began to grow also. Where Mufasa’s seed of caring and love for everything reflected upon how his father treated him, Scar could never understand why he hadn’t been given the same treatment. Whenever Mufasa told him to jokingly act normal and stop being so sarcastic, Scar had walked away sucking in his lip leaving his brother wondering what was wrong. From that point, Scar’s path had all but been forced upon him. What he choose to do with his miserable existence was up to how much more his family either ignored or tended to him, the latter being only a fantasy to him. Growing up still, Scar had often run away from everyone. He wasn’t missed even though he was gone for weeks at a time and only about a year old. Those weeks were the desensitizing ones of his life; where he lost care for anything or one. He bawled to the gods that he was told would be there to guide him and still, after receiving no help whatsoever felt like an insignificant speck on the plains wetting the ground with his tears. Upon returning to his pride, he was treated as if a dead creature that had not died. He knew what everyone had hoped had happened to him. It was obviously clear. Growing up became a massive desensitizing experience for the lion. Feeling as if he were marked from his birth to be looked down instead of up on, he quickly honed his ability to care indifferently about things. It wasn’t by choice but more or less the only way he could keep on living quietly, not bothering others. He had been born a bustling bouncy cub full of warmth and love with feelings more sensitive than his brothers. Yet, those too were only weapons against him, for his acute sensitivity quickly brought about his total reversal of being a carefree loving creature. He was hurt growing up and now, full grown, sat on his limb, trying to rebirth himself as a cub but knowing that it was too late. He was grown and expected to act that way even though for the first time he was beginning to feel what he had been denied. Sighing, he felt no desire to move from his tree. He was worthless to not only his own eye, but to whoever’s eye happened to fall upon him. He wanted to hide where no one would see him and if they happened to, he felt like giving them a barrage insults. Closing his eyes, he drifted off to sleep as tears found their way from his eyes to the ground. From above, King Ahadi looked down upon his sons. One he answered willingly, the other he dismissed altogether. His reasons were that Mufasa had been his planned son, the one he valued so dearly, and Scar, or Taka as he referred to him as, was his unplanned illegitimate son. The name came to him the moment he popped out of his mothers womb. “Ah, trash! What rubbish is this?” he had said and then named him Taka. 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