Last updated on March 19th, 2019 at 11:55 am
My darling cubs were just starting to learn about the glorious world the day Noah came for us. He explained why we had to go; it was the fault of the humans, whom had severed their relationship with God. He was going to drown them, we were told. Only two of each animal would be saved, so that the species could live on. I begged and pleaded with Noah, “Please, my babies, let me bring them,” but he told me no. There wouldn’t be enough room, he said, petting my fur gently before forcing me along. I screamed and struggled as he dragged me away from them, but to no avail.
I’m lucky to have my true mate with me, as that isn’t always the case. The Tigress aboard had the misfortune of being caught away from her mate, and then paired with a tiger from their rival pack. They’re so unhappy together, I don’t know how Noah will ever convince them to mate. It’s sad to watch her long for her true mate. Everything on this boat is so sad.
The birds sing and Noah smiles, but I’m sure he doesn’t know that they sing of death. I don’t think they’ll sing when the rain comes, though, and the clouds are growing thick. I wonder at times if there will be high ground, or if Noah’s Ark will be the only thing to crest the coming ocean. I wonder a lot, these days; it’s all I can do in my depression.
I wonder if he knows about the species he forgot. The unicorns, prideful and beautiful, unconcerned with the musings of humans, and certainly not the type for boats. Perhaps God will notice them in their meadows and halt the rains. Then I could escape the ship and go back to my home. Yes, I think many things like this. Many thoughts, many wonders.
Most of all, I just wonder about my babies. Silvertoes was just learning to stalk, chasing after his brother’s tail. Sunstreak, my beautiful girl, thought they were so fun to watch. Thinking of them hurts me. Their young curiosity and excitement. Their ceaseless hunger. It’s especially painful to think of Sandpaw. The runt of the litter, my scared little baby. I know he is mewling now, confused and alone. That I cannot be there to comfort him is too much to bear.
As I drift into an uneasy sleep, I find one more wonder in myself. I wonder if they will climb and climb until their paws can carry them no further, seeking shelter on high ground. I wonder if they will fight when the rain comes. They are so young, though. I don’t think they will fight. Deep in my weary heart, I know they will suffer: wet, cold and alone. The water will swallow them and smother them, and my babies, my very own cubs, will drown and die before they ever had a chance to live.
I do not wish to live either; not under the skies of such a cruel, unfeeling God.
by Kit Warner