Gerald the Elephant

My 3rd short story, inspired by my AP English journal prompt: A time you were brave". I decided to get all creative and take it down an unexpected path. Let me know what you think!

           A time I should have been braver was when I was elephant-hunting in the Congo.  I was riding in my dusty, open-topped jeep through the dry brush.  I spotted a big one about thirty yards away.  It was a large bull elephant.  His name was Gerald.  The jeep came to an abrupt halt.  I grabbed by rifle, hat, and a stick of gum, and jumped out of the jeep.  The long grass hid my position as I crept towards the big fella.  He was now only twenty feet away.  I opened the Winterfresh and popped it into my mouth, chewing it slowly.  Gerald’s trunk was suddenly raised in the air, detecting the minty scent. 

            You may not know this: elephants have terrible breath.  The odor of rancid elephant breath was getting more potent ever second that crawled by.  I was getting nauseated, but I pulled myself together once I realized it was only going to get worse every second I waited to do what I came here for. 

            I arose slowly, looking the great beast right in his eyes.  Gerald and I engaged in a staring contest of sorts for several seconds until I slowly began to raise my hand.  Inch by inch it traveled until my palm was pressing flat against my lips.  I quickly transferred the gum into my hand and then held my gift out to the massive, several ton wild bull elephant watching me with big eyes.

            Gerald’s trunk seized the little half-chewed blob of freshness in an instant.  He turned and scurried away, as if he had just stolen my wallet.

            He didn’t get far though.  The trumpeting cries reached my ears a few seconds after Gerald had made off like a pickpocket.  He tried to yell, he tried to scream, but his bugle had turned into a flute.  The gum had done its job; fatally lodged in his trunk, constricting the necessary air-flow.  As I came nearer, seeing him rolling on his back, the whistles grew to a shrieking pitch.  I had not been prepared for this.  My hands, sealing my ears shut, could not stop Gerald’s final cries from carving themselves into my ears.

            His squealing solo shrank to a violent hisp; gradually shrinking to a whisper; before silencing forever. The sawing-off of his tusks littered his still body with pure white dust, sprinkling his sore-shade of crimson trunk.

            I rose and left Gerald with no intention of looking back.  I made it nearly twenty feet through the brush.  Then my eyes forced themselves upon the buck-toothed victim of my evil-doing.

            I must have stared for ten minutes before I made my way back to the jeep.  Driving back to the hotel, a long scenic ride, filled with wildlife and my silent tears, I hated those two sticks of white-gold wrapped-up in a blanket in the back seat.  I hated the money they would give me, the pleasures they would bring.  More than anything, I hated myself.  What I had done.  Or, more to the point: What had I done!?

            I was brave on that drive out of the grassland.  Maybe for the first time in my life.  I decided then and there that I would never harm another living thing again.  I still hold true to those words.

            The ivory I abhorred was fashioned into the keys of a grand piano.  The keys are yellow now, but they used to be as pearly-white as the dust that had once settled on Gerald’s still face.  I still play my piano every day I can.  Every time I tickle the ivories I stole from Gerald, I think of the cruelty possible by greedy hands.  I hear his trumpet, whistle, and flute accompany my notes played on his remains.  I remember my long journey back.  Most of all, I remember my promise.