🦌⚠️🌎
I lift my face from the glimmering stream and allow the thick beads of contaminated water to trickle down my dampened muzzle. I am the Young Prince and the sunlight is warm, the air crisp; both are an indication of the spring turning towards autumn.
I sniffle my way through the forest, dancing and prancing and making believe my home amongst the trees and thickets is the same as it was when I was younger. My snout is one with the forest floor and then aimed towards the sky once more.
The leaves distending from the overhanging branches brush upon the fur of my ribs. I am afraid, for the leaves are trying to transmit to me their terrible speckled pollution.
A cluster of clouds congregates overhead, drawing my attention from the husky smoke rising from the city. Raindrops begin to patter, merging into harmonious symphonies as they slide down the leaves.
I reach the meadow and remember the first time I was here with my mother as I child. That also happened to be the time I first learned about the poachers, about the terror and evil that the two-legged creatures who rule the world have the unfortunate ability to impose. We are now up against a much more horrible and unmanageable beast, yet our protest is still being held in this very same meadow.
Amongst the herd I spy my friends, Thumper and Flower and their girlfriends too. They are all supporting signs that read:
“WAKE THE **** UP” or “IT’S NOW OR NEVER!! 💀” or something else along those lines.
I spot Feline too, looking as exquisite as ever with her dark brows furrowed into an unsuspecting caterpillar across her furry forehead.
Today is the day we march.
The mechanics of this are simple. We are now nearly at the edge of the forest – there are only a few layers of stocky firs separating us from the main road that will lead us to the city.
A pressure is rising among the crowd. We all imagine that our immersion into the human world will be difficult. We pool our fear in a communal pot of anxiety. The likelihood is that most of us will be shot or otherwise detained, forever withheld from our true habitat. A solid sadness stems from the fact that there is nothing else that can be done.
We inch onto the road and begin our march towards the city. We strut slowly and powerfully. There is no sense of any sort of excited chatter among us. It is clear that we are nervous.
When we reach the city, we are stunned. The streets are empty. Empty, empty, empty besides the select few that brave the streets wearing some sorts of protective masks over their noses and mouths.
“Perhaps these masks are some sort of new fashion statement of the two legged?” remarks Feline.
I am not convinced.
We march to the town square. The herd of us animals encompasses the space. The excitement and commotion that we believed we would insight by our protest is totally absent. There are no humans around to whom we could even begin to prove our point to.
“Well, seems like it’s time to head home. Maybe the humans have some sort of strange tradition of staying home on this random Wednesday in March. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if they did considering how strange some of their other customs are,” remarks Thumper, whiskers quivering.
As Thumper is a bunny and therefore quite little, I need to repeat what he says in order to get the attention of the general populous.
Being the Young Prince has its perks; without a moment of hesitation, the rest of the animals involved in the protest agree to head back.
Without further ado and with our snouts hung low in despair, we commence our journey back towards the decaying woodlands.
“Let’s try again tomorrow,” encourages Feline.
I am not convinced.
🦌⚠️🌎
WAST WRTNG 