I have always had this dream since I was little. It would start in medias res, with a little me who had irreversibly drunk something. "It was lethal poison", someone would say as we were exiting my father's house. "There is nothing more we can do for her". I would turn to my mother, and she would echo the distant words. "Well, there's not much we can do", but somehow these felt final. She wouldn't look at me, she would put on a common expression, not a trace of sadness, she was more like mad. The loss was a personal thing; it had to do with the individual challenge always going on in her life. Many years later, I recognised that very same expression on the face of the lioness, leaving behind one of her cubs. The little thing was just too emaciated, didn't have much chance for survival, that's what the voice said from the TV. But I don't believe him, after all, it's just one diagnosis, I can always ask for a second one, or a third. No, I cannot possibly believe him. With all due respect, he is the expert, but I know what I am feeling. I don't mean to be better than a professional, let's just say I'll ask for a second opinion, I don't mind the price. I mean, I do, these things tend to cost a lot, it's so unfair, I don't have much left. I don't have- and the lions, I always think about the lions, you know? There is one little cab I always think about. The father was collecting his little ones from the field for the night, but one managed to escape- or was he forgotten? It was pitch-black in the lugubrious woods, and a sound was heard; here were the other lions. Oh, but it was not them. It is common among felines in the jungle that different packs would try to kill the cubs to get a better chance of survival. These were particularly sadistic; they played with the little things, they pushed him and kicked him and bit him a lot all over his little body. He could not escape; he froze completely. Either survival instincts are a lie, or this one really is defective. And that's what the presenter said, but I don't believe him, I mean, it's not like I don't believe him at all, he certainly knows his way with this stuff, it takes such a long path to become what he is, but I think he doesn't really get it. But what is happening now? A creature of the night, some sort of giant bird, I didn't quite get the name... he is taking the cab, taking it far away. That's incredible. But hold on, where could he take him? At this point, the cab decides it's time to act. In the beginning, there was the Verb. And so starts the story of the lioness cub. He moves and moves until the bird loosens his grip. he is falling, he is falling! Why the fuck would somebody film it instead of helping him? Oh, but he is alive! At this point, shall we be happy or just genuinely surprised? He can finally go back; his mother shouldn't be far. He can see her, what an incredible adventure, nobody will believe him. But there is still one problem: he can't talk. Roars have no tense and groans have no conjugation, which means that the past already ceased to exist and is not important anymore.
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