Thursday, July 23, 2015

Fiction: These Elephants are NOT Pink.




The water was cold and murky like a forgotten cup of chocolate milk, making me uncomfortable and nervous of leeches and unexpected river critters that could bite me or brush against me causing some kind of muddy anxiety attack. 

The Mahout was all smiles as he sat on the elephant's back and handed me a hard bristle brush to get the caked dirt off the thick grey skin next to my pale goose-pimply legs.

I was distracted enough to not notice the sudden jerk of the animal's head and all of sudden I'm showered in brown water, not just from the river but from the inside of the elephant's trunk.  

I start to really doubt my choice in partaking of this activity, when did I think that having prickly elephant hairs under my thighs and my feet in mysterious water was a good idea? 

I stop imagining and laugh maniacally, I’m not really in that river I’m just watching other people suffer / enjoy their elephant bathing session while I sip a cold mojito on a lounge chair. 

You will never get me to sit on an elephant, I’ll stick to giving them bananas to grab with their long winding trunks, and try not to step on their poop.