Baraka the Black Rhino

He had once been the crown jewel of the Ngorongoro Crater. The magnificent tusk of this gentle giant pierced the horizon of the tall grass every morning. He had a received Ph.D, he had been given hundred of accolades and awards. This was evident in the diplomas, certificates, photographs all piled high in the corner of his humble abode. Yet this did not stop him being stripped of his honor. That one thing that makes a Rhinoceros, a Rhinoceros. You see in the Bush Wars of 1978, Baraka had enlisted in the Loyal Ngorongoro Crater Front (LNCF). His Ph.D and other Honors had served him well as he was promoted General. So as the day arrived, he rode to the battlegrounds on his trustworthy Clydesdale, Lornah. This was Baraka's personal horse, one that he had owned and trained for many years. Though like any living creature that had a true heart, Lornah realized that war was despicable and completely unnecessary. In her rage,pain and anger she threw Baraka off her back. For this was a terrible time for Baraka to be thrown off his trusty stead. The Rebel Puffin Forces of the Drakeensburgs were flanking Baraka's army and quickly engulfing them. With Baraka being on the ground he was easily a sitting duck for the rebels. Before he could even get his bearings back, the Puffins had him at knife point. The Puffin rebel forces realized that this man was a prestigious,valuable and sought after man. Taking this valuable information into account, the Puffin's began to do the unthinkable. They stripped Baraka of his tusk. One by one they took stabs at his majestic,earthly ivory tusk with their florescent,painful orange beaks. After his cries had echoed through the entire crater valley and the horrible pain had been delivered. He arose tuskless. This was truly the end of Baraka. For he was already 82 at the time of the battle. He knew it was the end, the tall grass knew it was the end, the birds circling over head knew it was the end. He slowly stood up and walked for not even five minutes. The warm and passionate deep orange sun was slowly setting in the West. Baraka collapsed onto a warm, deep red patch of dirt. His body was slowly fading into the earth. His head rested every so softly on that red dirt, his breaths were becoming shorter and shorter. The only thing that could be heard on that warm summer dusk was the faint beats of Baraka's heart. Though very shortly dusk turned to night and life turned to death. So remember this as you are out there in the valley and take up that deep red dirt in your palms. That the dirt you clutching is intelligent,majestic, and everlasting. As quickly as you grasp the dirt, the wind kicks up from the West and the dirt flies across the planes once again.

My Latitude and Longitude: 51°13'N 03°13'E