Scar's Narration Damn it. Who was I? King of Pride Rock, Fiercest in the Pride Land. Now surrounded by my own army. Now a failure. Now nothing. Just a lion ready to fight. Or die. No one will hear my wrath. No one will care of the feelings of a villain. Certainly. I had power. Had. I did horrible things to get my power. Power that are supposed to be mine. Supposed. So I gritted mt teeth, unsheathe my claws, and blinked. I’m ready to fight dirty. Honor has no place in survival. Years ago, when I erased Mufasa, I have felt the same wildness, the eagerness to rip and bite. A memory I thought long faded came to my head. Mufasa stands upon Pride Rock, as the king. Every animal cheer. No one notice me. Me, Scar, who had the power Mufasa hadn’t. Roar of the Elders. I’m more powerful than him…yet I was not the king. So I turned my back on him, used my power, as I reveal the evil side of me. I became the villain. I tasted the sweetness of being in control. Having powers. Free. I’d murdered my brother and blamed my nephew. I did it just to taste that glorious, satisfying sensation of sitting on that throne, looking down and sees all the animals bow to me, Scar, their new king. I have no regrets. One of the hyenas launched. I had lost my energy from the fight to Simba, yet who was I? Scar, the evil, strong, and cruel villain of this story. I can still fight. My claw caused a scar on the hyenas back, and it moaned in pain as I pinched it to the ground and, without, hesitations, buried my claw deep into it’s throat. The others are all trying to attack me, yet they all stopped cold to see the body on the ground, its heart no longer beating. One comes, the others follow. I somersault to avoid falling off the cliff. I can feel the pain, yet also the determination to fight until my last breath. Die like a real lion. The hyenas are powerful, yet they’re more exhausted than I am. I smash away another. My fangs turn red, my claws had fur in them, I taste the hot blood. I had accepted my fate, yet I want to taste it again. It felt great. One hyena I once called as my ally challenge me face to face. I recall the hatred from his face, because it once appeared on my face, too. A few others helped him. They push me, and I bite them and clawed them and roared. But I was too weak, oh, my, did I just say that I was weak? They throw me off the murderous cliff. Scar, their king. I roared my last. I died like my brother, whom I murdered. He died as the beloved king. I died as the disgusted villain. My story hadn’t end, not yet.

Hmph. I recall our teacher, Mrs Hart, telling us the differences between a fact and an opinion. “A fact is true!” She yelled in her high-pitched voice, “an opinion is not!” I consider the sentence ‘Today is your day to die’ an opinion. That appeared on a calendar for facts. I flip the calendar back to the page before, and found a fact: 'Elephants can remember things for a very, very long time.' Fact. I drag my stare off the 'fact', turning back to the date. May 2, I should be celebrating Voldemort's death. And plus, it's Saturday, I get to be online. So I sent a post celebrating the death of the greatest(a bit of a tosser really) villain ever appeared in the wizarding world. I found my mind floating to that calendar, I couldn't help myself. Must be a prank, I thought, forcing myself to turn my thoughts to the Marauders and the Weasley twins. But thinking of Fred Weasley only made me more concerned about it. On May 2, these people died: Voldemort Fred Weasley Tonks Lupin Colin Creevy Severus Snape ... The list goes on. I was horrified when a voice calls out in my mind, ringing at my ear, “You might be next!” I took a nap. My target was to rest a bit and throw away all thoughts, and I failed tragically. I had a dream. In the dream, I saw Albus Dumbledore, standing in front of me. Smiling. Then I remembered, that in a popular fan theory, Dumbledore is Death. Death is right in front of me. I woke up. Scared. It may really be a fact. I spit at myself for that thought. My mind's a mess, a real mess. Incredible mess. Like, the mess of a room that needed cleaning weeks ago. Like the mess of all toddlers crying in a kindergarten. One of my favourite lines from Dumbledore was, “Of course it happened in your mind, but why can't it be true?” It's gotten more and more creepy. But ‘you’ can be anyone, right? I tried to think logically. Anyone who reads the calendar. You're a twelve-year-old like me, or you're an old people in your eighties, you read it and believed it, today will be your day of death. I thought of Hermione’s comment to the Grim, and I completely calmed down. Grim made them die, so just ignore it, don't believe in it. Calendar fact be damned. Hermione’s a real genius. I wonder how many people saw this, got frightened, had a messy mind, wasn't careful, and got into some accident and really - like what the calendar told you - died. They believed in the fact, in the Grim. I don't care anyway. 11:59. P.m. My mind is a waveless ocean. At ease. 12:00. I'm not dead. I'm alive. Nice. You can accomplish a thing simply by believing that you can. Things can happen simply by that you believe it can happen. Interesting fact.