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  • Paul Davidson

End o’ The Month Elephant Ending

The traditions keep coming. First, there was the weekly Friday ritual of Words For Your Enjoyment. Then there was the Look in the Mirror and Brush Your Teeth poetry reading, which unfortunately never made it to the blog for reasons I’d rather not discuss.

But now, yet another tradition eeks its way out of my head. It is the (drum roll please)…

End o’ The Month Elephant Ending!

What is it? How often do you say to yourself or someone near you, “I wish there was somewhere on the web where I could read just the endings of all those great Elephant stories I used to hear as a kid, around the water cooler at work and at the local Diner. Man, if only there was such a place, where I didn’t have to read the entire story about the Elephant in question, which is always mired down in the birthing, growing up, learning to use their trunk and tree eating stories… But where I could just read the exciting, action-packed endings… Boy that would be awesome!”

Yes, your prayers have been answered. And will continue to be. Each and every month. On the last day of each month. At the end of each… Oh, you get it. So, without further adoooooo…

Mutamba stared at the hulking creature before him. When he told the stories, if he ever survived, he would describe it as a building so high it reminded him of the skyscrapers in New York City. Although Mutamba had never been to New York City, he had heard such stories about objects so tall they could make you dizzy. And now, at this moment, the Elephant was making him feel such emotions.

The Elephant raised its tusk in defiance, letting out a cry so loud it caused the leaves to shake and rattle around them in the forest clearing. The Elephant surveyed the situation. Mutamba, the dark little man with the shaking bamboo spear stood below him, dwarfed in all the glory of the Elephant. Man versus Elephant, the elephant thought to himself… This is going to be good, the Elephant thought.

Mutamba thought of Josie, his American sweetheart back at the plantation in Zimbabwe. She had struggled and sacrificed all to come here to be with him and live off the land. The advertising agency and the million dollar clients. The Park Avenue townhome and the Mercedes stretch limo. All these things she had given up for poor little Mutamba. Farmer and warrior.

“I am a warrior,” shouted Mutamba in his native tongue. “I will take this spear and end your life if you take one step further,” he nervously challenged.

All the Elephant heard was “Muah blah blah muah blah blah.” And in his language, that meant something to the effect of, I’m gonna get you sucka.

The Elephant’s tusks swung back and forth as he rose to his hind legs, screaming with vengeance over the loss of his child, MooMoo. MooMoo had such potential as an elephant, that his father had been depressed for sometime following the poacher “incident”. The sleepless nights and not having the appetite to eat leaves or ground cover caused the Elephant to downward spiral. There were weeks of doing nothing but sitting around all day without making any progress. Boy, did that suck. And now, face to face with Mutamba, holding a spear — the nasty poachers and the memories came flooding back.

Mutamba held up the spear in defiance, shouting again. And again.

The Elephant rose up higher and higher, bringing his huge oversized left front foot (which was abnormally larger than the others, which he was told meant he was extremely smart) and brought it down atop Mutamba with all his rage and violent tendencies.

The foot came down, crushing Mutamba to the ground. Breaking his bones and his will to live as his soul escaped his body and floated upwards to Heaven. Mutamba, god rest his soul, was dead. The Elephant, on the other hand, had finally put MooMoo’s memory to rest, having taken revenge on the species who took MooMoo away from his father.

And Josie… Well, she moved back to New York City and married into money.

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