[Lionheart, 797 words, Genre: Mind Fudge]
* Image courtesy of Dirk de Bruyn
In Australia she was a personal trainer. She coached other people into a fitness regime. She loved men that she was with fiercely. She had a fierce heart and that was perhaps given her namesake of lion heart. She ran for hours on end, her heart always pumping. Pumping blood from this artery to this vein. It was all part of the cardiovascular system. She did not know what her ultimate destiny was. Her supreme triumph in life that would outweigh and count victories upon those that stood against her.
She slowly progressed in life. Paying her bills and guiding the health and well being of those around her. The day that she met the sage took her quite off guard. She thought she was meeting some loser from high school who could not seem to let go of the past. She had coffee with him and did not understand the fact that he was unemployed. But the boy, throughout his life had gathered many enemies. His friends who he had seemed to outwit and outsmart at every play. The jobs that he had held down in the past were all difficult jobs. His life was a conflicted one and she slowly began to realize this fact.
She gave the man the time of day to hear him out and try to understand his sufferings. She had sufferings of her own and could understand these type of things. She was used to dealing with those of a disoriented circumstance. When she talked to him she began to realize that this man was not lost at all. He had had his difficulties, but he was attempting to achieve something. As to what that something was, she could not clearly identify.
He told her something. Something that she did not expect to hear. Especially from him. Something that took her off guard. A quiet realization that the sage had been pondering on. As a sage often ponders this subject and that. The next thing she did not expect, it was her destiny… Something to do in amongst the chaos of the current world. Existence is boring and mundane, and this is how legends are born.
What is in a name? A name must be earned. It cannot come across easily. And being a fierce lover of men was a beginning, but it was hardly worthy the title of lion heart.
She travelled to Africa to find it. She was not a hunter of these types of animals. However, if brutal men were going to hunt these animals without the regard of their dwindling numbers, she would ensure that the animal did not go to waste. What’s that old saying? Waste not, want not.
She found a group of poachers. Upon her clarification of what she was attempting to do the poachers were bewildered. She had to be careful of them, these men with guns. To ensure that she did not offend their masculinity or their goals in life. She kept her considerations to herself. She was well trained in this way.
It was an animist tradition. To eat the heart of another living being. An animal. The soul was said to exist at the center point of the heart. The animists believed that upon consumption of the animal’s heart, two souls would exist as one. And to eat a lion or lioness’s heart was to become supreme in the animal kingdom.
The poachers had hunted the animal. But there was no use for the heart. Perhaps it was considered a powerful aphrodisiac in some cultures. However, if wasted it would simply decay and rot over time.
The local people of a village had heard her intention and they had prepared a ritual for her to partake in. The animal was dead. The heart was prepared. It would not be cooked. She would eat it raw.
Drums beat. The local people were dancing. Caught up in the ecstasy and bliss of primordial rhythms. The heart was served to her. She picked it up. Her own heart was beating. Beating with ferocity. Her life had been built up to this point. She picked it up with both hands. Her hands trembled and for a moment she thought that the heart was still alive, that it was still beating. The tribal drums around her. All of it. And with a ferocity she pulled the heart to her mouth and began to rip with her teeth at the tendons, pulling apart the muscle with her teeth.
By the time she had finished her face was smeared with blood. The tribal drums ceased. She looked around. And she kept it down. She raised her arms in a raw victory and the local people cheered.
She was victorious at this moment. Also victorious in life.