Is it unreasonable to say that the purpose of life is to find your purpose? To me it seemed like the most reasonable thing in the world. But maybe that was because I always knew my purpose.
My mother said I came into this world racing, and I haven’t stopped since. Eating dinner the fastest. Cleaning up dinner the fastest. Hitting a growth spurt first. Finishing my tests first. Foot races on the playground that eventually led to much faster, more dangerous races on the street. Basically everything in my life that could revolve around racing, did.
It was only natural that all of that would culminate in the jungle, at a Choosing Ceremony. Or, at least it would be, if I was actually allowed to be there and not forced to linger in the shadows and watch my dreams slowly suffocate.
That’s not to say my view from a branch midway up a large tree was bad. It was almost too good. I saw the swish of a tail, the gleam of an eye, and the pure adrenaline coursing through the recruits as the juvenile jungle cats stalked their way into the clearing. And so it began.
The Choosing Ceremony was a tradition a hundred years strong, and it brought with it a history rich in blood. Because the choosing part was less about the humans choosing an animal, and more about the animals choosing whether or not to kill the humans. This year’s ceremony was looking pretty good so far. A fifty percent human survival rate, if the bloodlust in the air was any indication.
The first screams were just splitting the air when I heard rustling in the leaves next to me. My heart immediately picked up speed, and my breath lodged in my throat when the shadow next to me took the form of a nearly grown, pitch black jaguar. I locked eyes with it and my blood ran cold as it stared me down. I knew enough about Big Cat Racing to recognize death, and it was staring me right in the eye.
They say you never quite know how you’ll react in a life or death situation until you face one. The truth of that hit me square in the gut as the cat flicked its tail and very nearly appeared to lick its lips. But really it was the smirk that did it. I didn’t even know the big cats smirked until this one did, right at me.The smirk carried only death, and as I stared down the proverbial barrel, I realized that my heart had calmed. I wasn’t afraid to die. But I would be doing it on my own terms.
I jumped at the jaguar before I was entirely aware of what I was doing. It met me in the air and we fell out of the tree together. It was hard to say if the tree branches or cat claws cut me more on the way down. All I know is that the fall was far, painful, and it knocked me clean out when I hit the ground.
I woke up two days later in the hospital with a concussion and a jaguar all curled up at the foot of my bed. That was the last day fate was kind. Because it turned out that bonding with a wild animal was easier than dealing with stubborn humans.
Thanks for reading and being here at Claire’s Short Stories! I think I say it every time, but it remains true: this was a fun one to write.
Your story is a fun ride!
Love Jaguars. They have habitat here in southern Arizona and northern Sonora, Mexico.
The purpose of life is to find the purpose behind finding the purpose of life. On purpose.
Sheer exhilaration -- racing a jaguar! I really like this!