Life is a party

Pumbaa woke up for the day and headed for a log to hustle up some grub. He was very hungry as usual and couldn't wait any longer to eat something. The comfortable sound of rumbling in his belly was fun to listen to to him, but it sure didn't make him feel content, and for that, food is the best solution!

The warthog waited for Simba and Timon to tag along. He reached a small fallen log and dug his head in. He then lifted it out of the soft jungle soil. The bottom was slimy and the inside was teaming with all kinds of meals: beetles, maggots, centipedes, worms and grubs. He slurped up a large earthworm with delight: "Excellent as always!" He then started to create cocktails of grubs for Timon and Simba to eat: "Want some of these, Simba, old buddy, old pal?"

Everything and everyone in the jungle seemed wonderful, calm, careless and content. Nothing could mess up such a wonderful day.

But not Simba.

The warthog could notice some confusion in the eyes of the golden lion, he wondered: What could be wrong with him? What shook Simba so much to make him feel so bad? But, he didn't want to ask him too much, seeing that he's already concerned and carried on with his daily routine. He was still happy to look at him, noticing the path he's traveled since the first encounter, when he was just a sad cub with no one to take care of him. Now, he was an adult, a full mane that fell clumsily over his eyes. Suddenly, a fatherly feeling stirred inside his heart, he looked on with pride.

The day was bright and warm, another perfect morning in the jungle paradise the trio of carefree bachelors called home. Simba had finally reached maturity, with a full, shaffy auburn mane that reminded him of his long dead father, Mufasa. The golden brown lion had learned to push the dark thoughts out of his mind, but as the days passed and the past seemed increasingly distant, Simba found it impossible to keep his mind from wandering to those dark places. Nightmares haunted the lion each night as he slept. In his slumber, he often saw his father and the gorge; the herd of panicked wildebeests stampeding through. Simba still felt the same fear that had seized him that fateful day, though years had gone by, but he could never admit it aloud to Pumbaa or Timon. It was a secret he alone had to bear. What would the warthog and meerkat that raised the errant cub think of him, if they knew what he had done?

No, Simba could never breathe a word to even his closest friends about the tragic loss of his father, in an accident that he himself had caused, or the kingdom he had long since abandoned. It was becoming impossible not to wonder what had happened to his old friends, and his mother. Was Sarabi, his loving and devoted mother, still alive and well? Were Nala and Kula safe and sound, or had Scar forced them to be part of some sick harem? This thought bothered Simba the most, aso he made great efforts to hide the unpleasantness that occasionally seeped into his brain. Hakuna Matata was not just a phrase, but a lifestyle, and the once-prince of the Pridelands had embraced it, mind, body, and soul.

After trailing along behind Pumbaa to one of the gang's favorite places, feasting on the corpulent swine's favorite delicacy, the lion was simply not feeling hungry. Now that he was an adult, it was hard to ignore the growing sense of restlessness that often accompanied maturity for males of his species. Often, he would wander away from his foster parents to walk on his own. It wasn't that he disliked spending time with his buddies -- He couldn't explain it, but the solitude seemed to beckon Simba, especially late at night, while the others were snoring away beneath the jungle vines. So many countless nights had been spent gazing up at the stars twinkling above, so beautiful but always impossibly far away.

Pumbaa seemed to notice that something was off that day in his leonine companion, but Simba quickly forced a smile. "No, I ate earlier. You go ahead." Peering closer at the grubs beneath the log his friend had just overturned, he tried to act enthusiastic, though his heart felt heavy within his chest. "There are some juicy looking worms in there. Your favorite, right?"

Pumbaa looked at Simba, when he said he wasn't hungry, he was pretty confident something was bothering the lion, making him feel restless, but he decided to let his foster son be, not wanting to overwhelm his mind with questions: "Okey dokey!" He looked to Timon as he ate.

Pumbaa then grabbed a mouthful of grubs and chewed them up: "There sure are, Simba! You just learn to love 'em!" He chewed them all and swallowed them, then grabbed a worm and ate it, slurping it like spaghetti: "Slimy and healthy always beats crunchy if you ask me!" He had a good time eating, but now it was time to rest.

He laid down on a hammock made of vines and sighed in content. He then let out a loud burp that could be heard miles away! He looked at Simba: "I ate like a pig!" Ah, nothing better then to rest and relax after an abundant meal and do nothing at all! The benefits of Hakuna Matata never seem to end for this hog. It's as simple as it can get, and now, after a long morning of slacking around, h could use a little peace and quiet.

He still looked at the golden lion with confusion. He seemed very drowsy and worn-out, like he had eaten a stink bug, but this seemed to be more of emotions and stress, on the other hand. He still kept coll though, noticing how bad Simba felt, he didn't want to agitate him.

The sounds of his friends slurping and crunching away contentedly seemed to annoy Simba that day, the longer he sat there, not joining in on the daily feast. Poor table manners were something he had grown accustomed to years ago, but today, the young lion seemed irritable. Pumbaa unleashed a belch so loud, it almost seemed as if the ground itself shook, and Simba's ears set back flat against his skull. Normally, burping was a game, a competition between the trio, but something was definitely off that day. The lion, now fully matured, felt restless in a way he could not describe.

He hadn't realized the warthog's eyes were upon him until he glanced over to Pumbaa. The puzzled look on the hog's face was not lost on Simba, but he offered no explanation at all. Pumbaa thought that perhaps he was tired. On the contrary, Simba felt full of life, full of energy that he had nothing to do with. He felt as if he could run for miles, but what was the point? There was nowhere to go, no one else to see.

"What? What's up?" He finally asked, feigning innocence. "Why don't we ever go into the savanna?" But then, Simba already knew the answer to this; A warthog and a meerkat would make a fine meal for a desperate rogue that roamed there. They were lucky to have the oasis, where others seldom strayed. This was what Simba had always believed, anyway. They were safe there. Safe from their own uncomfortable histories, safe from other lions and dangers that were evident elsewhere.

But now that he was older, he was beginning to see it differently: Safe was rather boring. The routine, always the same every day, had grown stale. Simba wasn't able to put a name to what it was he was missing, and he doubted he would find it out on the savanna, but he was ready for a change of scenery. He could never admit this to his companions though, knowing it would hurt their feelings. Hadn't they taken him in when he was near dead? Simba owed his life to his unlikely friends, and his expression softened. "You know Pumbaa, I've always wondered something. Where exactly did you come from? You weren't born here in the jungle, were you?" The lion knew that his friend's past was a sensitive subject, given his unfortunate habit that had made him an outcast from society at large, before he had found Timon.

When Pumbaa heard word of Simba wanting to go into the savanna, he got up slightly: "What? You can go, we don't move anywhere from here." He had no intentions to even tread into the savanna, because there was nothing for Timon and Pumbaa there, only predators that would get the quickest chance to hunt them down and eat them. For them, there was no home, but the lovely Lowland Oasis, an ideal place where no one can disturb you and where life is usually longer. But, he let Simba go, since he was young and vigorous, he usually allowed him to go wherever he pleased at certain times in the day, while Timon would usually complain about it not being by the norms of "Hakuna Matata."

When Simba asked Pumbaa of his origin, the warthog just shook his head lightly: "Well...no." The warthog wasn't born or raised here. In fact, Pumbaa had no clue where he had spent his early life. The warthog was born in the savanna, his siblings were killed by a leopard and therefore, Timon and he didn't have any thoughts of going there, because they feared getting eaten by a leopard or rogue lion. He then turned his head to the golden lion, who was listening: "I don't know exactly where it was, but, eh, I was born on a big open plain, with lots of food, lots of grubs and lots of warthogs. My mom was big and so nice. She loved and my 5 brothers and 2 sisters more than anything else. We were always playing, wallowing together in the mud, no cares and no worries." He then remembered the death of one of his siblings to a leopard, and sighed a bit sadly.

"But...one day, it all changed. It was the end of the raining season, and all my siblings and my mother were under a fallen tree. We were waiting for the rain to come, we did it every year, smiling and singing when it rained. But then, my brother Mafuta ran off after a butterfly, and then my sister Tamu, and I saw it and I thought that I should follow them, because I was the youngest. Then, a big leopard jumped from behind a tree and just snatched them right in front of me. My legs were totally taken from me, I was too limp to even run. But, my mom took me out of it's way and chased him. I don't ever remember crying so much in my life." A small tear came out of his eye, but he wiped it with his hoof and sniffed, grieved for the loss of his siblings.