A lion went on a killing spree. He chased down antelope, zebras, wildebeest. Anything he came across was game: rats, lizards, baboons, he killed them all. And when he was finished, he dragged their carcasses into a pile and began to eat.

The scavengers gathered around him: vultures, hyenas, insects of all shapes, drawn by the stench of death. They could sense there was going to be a feast like never before. They just had to wait. But when the lion had eaten his fill, he did not move aside.

“Have you finished your meal?” a hyena asked, stepping forward. The lion sent him back with a roar. “Come any closer and I will add you to the pile,” he warned. “I killed these animals, me, and only me, and I am keeping them all for myself.”

“But… what are you going to do with them?” the scavengers asked. “You can’t eat the whole pile. There’s too much. It will rot and putrefy and turn bad before you get through one tenth of what you’ve accumulated.” “That is not your concern,” said the lion.

The scavengers felt it was very much their concern. “You don’t understand,” the hyena explained. “It is our job to clean up the remains. Together we are able to consume almost everything. Nothing goes to waste, nothing remains to spread disease.”

“It is you who do not understand,” the lion bellowed, puffing his chest and raising himself high above the crowd. “Things have changed. You will have a new job. Build a monument to commemorate my achievements and express your gratitude and I will allow you to eat as you did before. Now, go! Hurry, before the stench gets too strong.”

The scavengers withdrew to talk among themselves. They muttered, scratched and shook their heads, but then they set to work. The hyenas and jackals stripped dead trees, vultures carried the trunks, while insects bound them with threads of vine and sticky trails, and mongooses rolled rocks to secure the foundation.

When they had finished, the lion came down from his seat and began to circle the monument. “You’ve done well,” he said. “You worked quickly. But, tell me, what is meant to be?” “Why, sire,” the scavengers replied. “Do you not see? It is a cage. We have built you a cage.”

 Richard Parkin, 2024