Final Entry of Baal Davar, From a Tent (with redactions)

Log date: [REMOVED]

Primary Location: [REMOVED], [REMOVED]

Secondary Location: [REMOVED], a watering hole


For the sake of posterity and sanity, this will be curt.

At approximately 3:30 P.M., myself, [REMOVED], [REMOVED], and [REMOVED] crossed a modest plot of land in [REMOVED]. The evening prior, we were informed by a group of local hunters of a watering hole in the area, frequented by a lion pride.

After some driving, some scouting, we found it. We stopped the jeep one hundred yards, maybe one hundred and twenty yards, from the watering hole. As we had hoped, the pride was present. Through my binoculars, I counted seven lions in total. No other animals were in sight. 

Now, from here on, please read carefully. And keep in your thoughts that I am of sane mind and healthy body. As are the rest of the men in the party. Understand what happens thus.

We watched the lions by the watering hole. And they were sitting on their haunches, or laying on the muddy ground. None were partaking in a drink from the hole. They were listening to the angel of death.

This is no metaphor. No poetry. Before us, stood Death Incarnate. 

We all saw it. Each of us in the jeep. It was Death, the Reaper, the Angel of Finality. The scythe, he held it at his side. We are sane men, remember. 

[REMOVED] drove the jeep forward as slowly and quietly as possible. It did not matter. The lions heard the engine rumbling and the tires rolling. They merely turned to look upon us, the humans in their moving cage, and refocused their attention on the angel. 

We got as close as we dared, and we listened. 

The Reaper spoke to the lions, gesturing wildly with his arms. Swinging his scythe around, madly. He stood atop a small boulder. He addressed them in Kikuyu, I believe. 

Then, his eyes, black as sharks’, found us. It felt like they sank into us. The Reaper changed tongues, in a sense, switching to the King’s English. 

“I am telling the good lions here the truth of life!” he proclaimed, thrusting the scythe at the pride. 

The angel turned the blade towards us. “Your paradise above is finito!” 

He lifted his scythe up. As high as he could. The blade shone in the blinding sunlight. The Reaper glanced up at it.

“With this edge, sharp and famished, I banished them all to flames!”

Copper, brown stains covered the scythe. The angel was proud of those dark blotches. It was apparent.

“They are all dead! Never to be more than food for fire! God be damned! Be damned!”

He lowered his tool, holding it, again, at his side.

“Man!” he called to us. “Watch the blade! Never look away!”

We were barely able to see him, the Reaper. He moved so quickly. With the speed of a hummingbird’s wings, his scythe sliced through the air. And sliced through the necks of the pride.

Blood flew.

Their heads fell to the ground. Rolled to a stop, free of their beastly bodies.

I felt [REMOVED] move frantically beside me. Before I realized what he was doing, before I could halt him, he had my rifle in his hands. He steadied himself, aimed the barrel, and put four bullets into the angel.

The scythe dropped from his white clutch, and he toppled from the boulder. The Reaper’s life-force poured forth from his chest, and flowed into the watering hole.

From the brush, two unseen and unheard hyenas rushed for the lifeless body of the angel. They dragged the corpse away, back into the tall brush. I can only fathom that the animals consumed every bit of him.

[REMOVED] shifted the jeep into reverse, and we drove back to camp. Silence among us, not a word uttered from one to the other.

Now, the sun has set, the stars have bloomed, and I sit at the wobbling table inside of the tent. I am alone. Not just in this tent. But, I am truly alone.

I hold the pen among the fingers of my right hand. In my left, I hold tight the pistol. The angel, the reaper of all, he at once proved and stole the existence of anything more. He felled the sky.

In my left hand, a tool used to meet one’s maker. Once upon a time, I suppose.

Oh, how I pine to know where I am going.

I do not wish to make a mess of the tent. I shall take my business outside and away.

With admiration for all living things,

[REMOVED]

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