"I hate safaris." One day I decided to go to the safari and see all the animals. Little did I know what would happen later that day. I decided to take a jeep safari that day, this is when my day went south. First, an elephant blew water on me with his trunk. Secondly, a cheetah bit my hand, and finally a lion decided that I was dinner. And that is why I hate Safaris!

“I hate safaris. They’re the absolute worst! Not only is there a smelly ugly box on wheels they like to call a “jeep”, but there’s also a long bumpy hard as rocks road that runs all over the place! I mean how do they expect us to actually enjoy this like they said we would. And don’t get me started on the chit chatter that goes on. Some of them can be really loud and obnoxious. I just wish these safaris could be a little bit nicer. If you want to please a queen such as myself, I expect nothing but the finest. And it wouldn’t hurt if by accident one of these so called “safari jeeps” just so happen to get lost on another path ,and is somehow met with a queen and her cubs. I mean these safaris should really offer snacks for the stars of these safaris. For goodness sakes we lions are the reason these smelly obnoxious humans are out here! Anyways like I was saying, I hate safaris. But I’m simply a lion.”

“ I hate Safaris”, said my sister Angela. “Why?”, I said. “Because that is your thing, not mine.

My name is Francis Weis. I am the oldest of David and Maria Weis. My father is a private lawyer with his own firm, while my mother is an accountant for the First National Bank. With our parent’s income, my sister and I lived pretty well off. My sister Angela Weis and I may be family, however when looking at us, you probably wouldn’t have guessed. I take more of my mom’s looks: Black hair, brown eyes, and tan skin. My sister takes after Dad: Blond hair, blue eyes, and light skin. It’s wasn’t just appearances, but also personalities that set us apart. I am an outdoors man. I enjoy camping, fishing, hunting, and hiking through the open woodlands near my house. During the summer, I would spend nearly every night in a tent. Besides camping, I also love wildlife and nature. My Dad bought a camera for my eighth birthday, and ever since, I have used that camera to take photos of all the animals in my area: coyotes, white-tailed deers, eastern grey squirrels, Canadian geese, mallard ducks, box turtles, bobcat, red and grey foxes, and even a timber rattlesnake. My sister, however, is a city girl. My sister enjoys hanging out with her friends, Snapchat, shopping, fashion, and visual design. My sister also enjoys volleyball and wishes to go to Orange County for college to play volleyball. My sister is now a sophomore in high school, while I am now a senior, so she has time to decide where she wants to go. My plan after high school, is to work as a nature photographer to help save money for the University of California, in Davis, for a bachelors in Zoology.

It was late May, and my sister and I had finish our last day of School for the semester. I drove Angela and I home because my parents had an important announcement for us. When we got home, our parents had us sit together for a family meeting in the living room. Apparently, my mom had gotten a large bonus, so our parents decided that this year we had the money to pay for a family vacation overseas. Both my sister and I were excited at the news, we had never been out of the country and there are countries we both dreamed of going too. Our Mom asked for our options about where to go. I said we should go to Kenya and do a Safari, while Angela said we should go to Paris and see the Eiffel Tower. It’s has always been Angela’s dream to go to Paris, however, it has always been my dream to go to Kenya and do a Safari since I first saw the African exhibit at our local zoo. Our school already had a special spring break excursion to France for Seniors, so I asked Angela why not go to Kenya since this may be the only time we can go to Africa. Angela said that Safaris were my thing, not hers.

Needless to say there was a lot of arguing on where we should go. It got so bad that Dad got between us and demanded we settle on a place or he and Mom would choose another place instead. It was quiet between Angela and I for a couple minutes afterwards since we both didn’t know what to say. I then remembered that Angela was helping her friend Sarah with making printed t-shirts for a customize t shirt shop Sarah was opening at the mall for the summer. I suggested that if we go to Kenya, then I can used my photography skills to take wildlife pictures for the t shirt designs. Angela said that Paris also would be great on t shirts as well.

I then remembered that I was planning on being a nature photographer after high school, and I could use some of the money I was going to get as a nature photographer to pay for the school trip to Paris during Angela’s senior year. I explained this to Angela and she was shocked I would do that for her. I explained that even though we may not always see eye to eye, we’re still family and family always supports each other. Angela than agreed that we could go to Kenya for our family vacation and we did.

The End.

"I Hate Safaris"

"And why is that Ethan?" Questioned Eliza.

Ethan shrugged. "Ugh. I knew this was going to come up at some point. Was just dreading it."

"That's what I'm here for. Perhaps it's not as bad as you think?"

Ethan shook his head. "No, it's pretty bad."

"Tell me about it, Ethan."

"Alright. I guess I'll start from the beginning." Ethan cleared his throat and adjusted himself for comfort on the couch.

Eliza nodded in approval.

"I'll just say it. My parents are swingers."

Ethan heard no verbal reaction from Eliza, just the scribbling of her pen as she jotted the information down. He continued.

"My friends always joked about it. For years. And I usually laughed it off and really didn't entertain the idea. The guys started saying they were swingers due to the fact that they were always traveling with other couples and because of the times when they'd come home even later than I. Again, I didn't think much of it. I just thought my parents were...doing you know. Whatever."

"Of course." Replied Eliza.

"I really didn't think much of it until my brother Robbie brought it up. We were on vacation with my parents and we were unpacking in our room and he just asked." Ethan cleared his throat and adjusted himself again. He chuckled lightly. "He just asked if I thought Mom and Dad were swingers. I literally froze in my tracks when he said that. I remember I was holding a pair of socks, I just froze in place. I asked him where he got that idea, and he said it was because of their traveling."

More scribbling of the pen to paper.

"And Robbie doesn't converse with my friends." Ethan shook his head. "And even after Robbie said it I had my denials about it. Tripped me out, but that was it."

Ethan hesitated, and Eliza let him take his time. There was still time on his session.

"Then last Wednesday I went to my Grandma's to help clear out her old house, unannounced." He scoffed. "And there was always this door in her house that was closed. After a while, you just forget about it. There was always a table full of junk in front of it."

"And that door was open?" Eliza questioned.

Ethan nodded. "Yeah. So I went in, I didn't think much of it. It was Grandma's house. I went downstairs...and there was a fucking sex dungeon. A full-blown sex dungeon, with chains, whips, paddles, ropes, dildos. The whole nine yards. I wanted to throw up. And then I heard the front door open. So...I ran upstairs."

Ethan shuttered. He wanted to stop, but that wasn't an option. It was why he was here.

"And it was my parents with like ten other random people. Some around their age, some around my age. All of them wearing robes and animal masks. Dad wore a Lion mask and Mom had a Gazelle mask on. They had robes on, but I could see through them. I could see everything. Just a sea of Sexually Fueled Safari Animals."

Ethan shuttered.

"I was always a fan of nature documentaries. I can't even watch those anymore." He shook his head.

"I just...I fucking hate safaris."

I hate safaris. This feeling had been growing on me for years, and until recently, I ignored it. For what purpose does it serve? I live in a city isolated from anything remotely close to a safari, and, short of the zoo, animal watching is only achieved by the infrequent run in with a small bird. I believe, however, that I can not ignore my indignation.

There is something beneath my psyche that continuous to breach the depths of my sub conscious, running the show for short periods of time. A thin veil of guilt will cloud my senses, and there must be a reason, there’s always a reason. For no man can hide from the power of his own mind.

I think…I think I figured it out. Evolutionary psychology plays a role, doubtless. At first, I thought I felt bad for the animals, but my anger is deeper than that, it must be. You see, I pondered, convicted, appealed and pondered again, but all along the answer was right in front of me: I desire to be an animal again.

Animal I am, city dweller I am not. But a slave to the concrete mass I have become. Turn the dial back 4000 years and humans lived within the food chain. Today, humans live within the World Wide Web. I do not feel angry after all. I feel like a modern painting in a classical museum: out of place.

“I hate safaris” the brother said to his sister as he watched the rhinoceros edge its way ever closer to the stuck land cruiser. “We should be out of this soon” the guide promised before going back to her walkie talkie. “Relax it’s just a rhino, what’s the worst that can happen?” His sister jinxed before the rhino charged into the vehicle unsticking it from the mud but at the consequence of toppling it over. Everyone onboard was flung out screaming. Some found themselves crushed under the heavy car. Brother and sister included.

“I hate Safaris,” Jay, the mechanic, grumbled, kicking the ugly old van’s tires. “Safaris and Savanas, Seriously the ugliest vans GMC ever made.” She pulled her dirty blond hair into a messy bun before popping the hood.

“Worse than the Chevy Astro?” Mace, her boyfriend asked. He was sitting in his usual place, a desk next to the door that led from the house to the garage, where the wifi signal was best. His white rimmed glasses contrasted starkly with his chestnut brown skin. He had two laptops open in front of him and a tablet propped up on one knee against the front of the small desk.

“They’re basically the same thing,” Jay grumbled. She tested a few different size sockets on an engine bolt before deciding on the right size and getting to work. Mace kissed her goodnight and went inside to sleep while she worked.

By morning she had the rusty, pale blue van stripped. The engine, transmission and all but the driver’s seats were gone. Then Mace got to work installing monitors and other computer components in the back of the van while she went in the house to catch a few hours of sleep.

That afternoon Chip, their boss, delivered the new engine.

“Damn ugly,” Chip commented when they saw the Safari, “but it’ll do.”

Jay came back out from the house, freshly showered and holding a large orange coffee mug. She helped Chip unload the new engine from the back of their truck. It was much smaller than the hunk of metal now suspended by a pulley from the garage rafters, not much bigger than a mailbox and fully electric. In their day job as a civilian contractor with the Air Force Chip had access to a lot of the newest top secret tech. They never said how they managed to smuggle these things out, and Jay didn’t ask.

By evening the team’s latest project was complete. Jay drove it across town to the junk yard, to join the rest of the fleet hiding in plain sight. Mace followed her in his much smaller Nissan Leaf. They would stop for dinner at their favorite local taco shop on the way home to celebrate a job well done.

The junkyard manager whistled as Jay backed the Safari into line between an off white Ford Club Wagon and a smaller, red Chevy HHR with a good size dent in the front fender and hood.

“I think that is the ugliest hunk of junk you’ve brought me yet,” he said as he took the keys.

“Getting ready for the revolution in style as always,” she answered with a wink.

“I hate safaris. Everything is boxy. And you know I don’t feel free to express myself in muted earth-tones. And what is this shit, leopard print? You have to be kidding me. Can I call in sick?”

“You’re already here, Anthony. Besides, you look great in leopard.”

“No, shit. I look good in everything. Where is Marcus?”

Chloe quarter-turned toward the open door and snapped her fingers. Some name-not-necessary intern belly-dragged the ancient pug along the polished concrete flooring. They were in a three story office building in the tech district that was in the middle of being remodeled. Anthony had seen the mockups of what it would eventually look like: The pedestrian-chic real wood and “industrial” juxtaposition intended to give desk-chained nerds the sense that they were doing meaningful work.

He hated that crap.

Ignoring the intern, he knelt down to give Marcus belly scritches before being suddenly annoyed again.

“Why are we even in here?”

“We’re in here because of the interplay, the mise-en-scene, Anthony. We already discussed this.”

Anthony spun around to face the only person on site that could challenge him: The photographer, Johnny Tran.

Johnny Tran.

Johnnytran.

Never just Johnny. Never just Tran. Always Johnnytran, like it was one word. The new hotness in fashion photography. The hip, sexy wunderkind who started as a model and only got better known and more famous as a photog.

Anthony hated him.

And loved him; He was a genius.

Mostly hated, though.

“It’s going to look terrible.”

“No, it won’t.”

“We’re dressed like we should be on the savannah in Africa and you insist on putting us in the middle of a half-destroyed building? It’s going to look ridiculous.”

“Fashion is ridiculous.”

Anthony stumbled, unable to find a quick enough reply in the face of unassailable logic. Instead, he turned on his heels and huffed away, throwing a snotty, “find me when you’re finally ready” over his shoulder on his way out.

Then he waited.

They always chased after him. Made promises, apologies, accommodations.

Just… had… to…

Wait?

No one was coming.

One of his power moves was to ignore, to shun, not to turn around…

He had to sneak a look.

Sonofabitch! They were all just… working. Going about their business: Setting up lighting and filters, manning the makeup table, running wires, talking with the construction managers. All the logistical stuff that a model of his status was supposed to be immune from even thinking about. Not his problem. He was supposed to show up late, mosey out of makeup when he was good and ready, complain about wardrobe until they gave in on something—“what” was irrelevant, just something—and then be gorgeous on command for twenty minutes before, spent, retiring until it was time to eat or get drunk or shop.

That was what they paid him for!

He decided to punish them, to walk through the massive building, huffing and puffing and counting how they had offended him, while hoping they’d have to work hard to find him.

Let’s see: First, his matcha was room temp, making it undrinkable, then he had to ask twice(!) for the intern to take Marcus for a poo, then he was told he had to dress like Bwana Johnny while trying to not to get tetanus in this ridiculous construction site. Now he was being ignored by the—

“Yo.”

He turned, unsure of where the voice came from, not yet ready to give in on his pout.

“Hey, bro. Can you…?”

A stranger. A construction worker of some kind, struggling with something. He wasn’t dressed in the traditional garb that Anthony now realized was largely based on some combination of the Village People and Bob the Builder. Instead, he wore dusty 501s, thick-soled work boots, and a faded neon yellow t-shirt that should have been ritually burned about three hundred washes ago.

“…can you help me out, dude?”

Anthony snapped out of the trance. He was unsure of what to do, so he just said, “sure.”

“Sweet. Grab that side. I just need to get it through this opening, but,” he struggled with the large sheet of flat, compressed chalk, “it’s proving to be a bitch.”

“Okay,” he said. Cautious. Uncertain. “What should I, um—“

“Just grab that side, yep, there you go, now lift it up just a bit and we’ll swing it around, yep, perfect, there we go. Nice. That thing was pissing me off,” he said with a charming laugh. “Good thing you came by when you did.”

“No problem. Glad I could help.” Anthony looked for somewhere to wipe the white dust from his hands. He thought momentarily of using the safari duds, but, as satisfying as it would be, ultimately, it would end up making his day longer.

“Oh, sorry, here, bro. You can use this.”

Anthony suddenly felt self-conscious of being deemed ‘unmanly’ as he pinch-grabbed the very edge of an otherwise well-used shop rag. “Um, thank you.” He did his best to wipe off the dust before handing it back.

“You going hunting?”

“What?”

The man looked down at Anthony’s getup. He blushed. “Oh, no. Hah. No. It’s, well, I’m supposed to wear this, for the shoot.”

“You’re going shooting?”

“Hah. No… oh my. It seems, well, silly, considering. For the photo shoot.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry. Yeah. The thing today. Dale told us about that, said we should just clear out of the area. Said some models are coming by. Any hot ones?”

Anthony smiled.

“Oh, shit again. Sorry, bro. So, you? You’re the model or whatever?”

“Guilty.”

“No kidding?”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

Now it was the man’s turn to blush. “I’m just doing great here, aren’t I?” He laughed with a genuine confidence of which Anthony felt suddenly envious. “I didn’t mean, I mean, you’re, you know, a good lookin’ dude and all that, I was just—“

“It’s fine. I’m just messing with you. Sorry. Just me. No hot babes.” He laughed. “So, is this what you do here? Are these, like, the walls or something?”

The man turned to his workspace, a small conference room. “Oh, yeah, exactly that. These big panels are sheet rock. They sort of make the shell of the rooms, keep the insulation from falling out, all that stuff. It’s not rocket surgery, but it pays the bills, you know what I mean?”

“You enjoy it?”

“Most days. I like being inside. I started as a framer, but that can suck when it’s cold or raining or whatever.”

“I can imagine.” Anthony looked at the room. It was about half complete, with exposed 2x4s and pink insulation and wiring in all the sections still waiting to be covered. “You need anymore help?”

“Nah. I’m good, thanks, man.”

“You sure? I have time.”

The man paused, before, “Sure, yeah. Okay. I’ll show you how we put them up, in case you, you know, decide to flip a house or something.”

“Hah. Okay. My new career!”

“Okay, just grab that side, we’ll set it up here on top of this one, and—“

“Oh, sorry. I hit the edge on this thing in the wall.”

“That’s just a j-box. For electrical. No worries, sheet rock is super-forgiving. Believe me, I’ve had to fix a lot of mistakes with a little paste and tape. Okay, so just set it here, yep, perfect, now we’ll screw into the stud—“

“Ummm…?”

“Behave,” he laughed. “Now, the trick here is that we want to have enough pressure to countersink a little, but not tear up the paper. You want to try the next one?”

Anthony hesitated before, “Ok, yeah. Let’s do it.”

The man helped him set up the drill, place it. “Okay, give it a—whoops. Nope.” They both laughed. “No worries. We can fix that, too.”

“Sorry. Guess I don’t know my own strength,” Anthony said with a giggle.

“Done the same thing a million times; Let’s just try it again. Perfect. Well, done.”

The two men worked together, getting a system down to where they could wordlessly get a sheet up in a matter of seconds. Soon, the room was nearly complete.

“The more detailed areas will take me a while. I have to make bunch of cuts, get things tightened up, all that. But thanks for your help. That made things go much faster. I might just get out of here early today.”

“It was my pleasure.” He meant it.

“Coke?”

“Ummm…?”

“Behave,” the man said, taking two bottles of coke from his cooler and handing one to Anthony.

Anthony tried to twist off the top, but nothing doing.

“Oh, sorry. These are from Mexico. Real sugar, but not twist-offs.” Anthony watched as the man deftly put the edge of the cap on the side of a metal tool box and popped the top off with one well-placed smack. “Cheers.”

They clinked bottles and took a well-earned sip; The sugary nectar he’d had since childhood had never tasted quite as good.

The pair sat on a rolling tool chest, silently sipping their drinks.

“I found him!” Chloe said into a walkie-talkie. “Oh, dammit, what did, the clothes are all, what even is this?”

“Looks like I’m in trouble,” he said to the man, adding a wink for good measure.

“Been there. Thanks for your help, brother. You decide to start that house-flipping business you look me up.”

“Deal,” Anthony said, taking a long pull of Coke before handing the bottle back to the man. “Back to the grind.”

Chloe, walking the balance between anger and wanting to keep her job, escorted Anthony back to the set up.

“Sorry, Johnny Tran, looks like we’ll need to get him into something diff—“

Johnny Tran looked at Anthony: The safari wear covered in chalk dust, the sweat, the construction site background. “No, this is perfect. I love it. You’re the best at what you do, Anthony. Everyone ready?”

Anthony, back in his element, did what he did best: He looked interesting.

He’d done it so many times that he didn’t have to even think about it, leaving his mind open to wander, to think about the man, the work, how amazing it felt to see the small conference room they had sheet-rocked nearly completed.

“No smiles, Anthony.”

“Sorry.”

(Another rush)

“I hate safaris.”

I said to myself as the road became bumpier and bumpier. As the road got bumpier, a sharp rock scraped against the front right tire, which caused it to flatten. Oh no.. my biggest problem come to life! Now I’m gonna be out here longer. I guess it can’t be a big deal, the tire is getting fixed now.

But wait, I just heard a roar. What was that? Oh no, a lion. The lion is creeping towards our van, we must be its next meals. It pounced on me, and started clawing me!

I hate safaris. And I’ll tell you why…

It wasn’t the intense heat that radiated down and caused increased humidity in the air. The way my face and body dripped with sweat and made me both physically uncomfortable and caused me to feel self conscious about the smell of me in front of my lady guide.

I could smell the mix of Jeep exhaust and animal dung, though I couldn’t tell you in the moment what kind of scat it was… but as I lifted my gaze to the shade of a nearby acacia tree, I saw her.

She was confidant, and watchful. Eyes leering over at us with careful consideration. I won’t forget her sleek shoulder muscles and how her golden fur seemed to clean with sunlight even though she was entirely shaded by the tree.

It was seconds- or hours, I couldn’t tell you which. I just stared at her. This beautiful queen, a lioness of unmatched majesty.

And then she sprung into action before I could fathom an ounce of reaction. She moved with such grace and quickness that I couldn’t break my gaze.

I didn’t even notice that my guide had slammed on the gas and had us speeding away until we were well out of reach of the fierce and mighty feline.

I turned back towards the safari guide, now noticing how calm and collected she seemed to be. A lady of action. That was sexy. And so was she. Her hair was a beautiful shade of obsidian and her perfectly completed face was a beautiful mahogany.

“That… was crazy back there.” I choked out.

She smiled. She was so pretty. I felt like an idiot. “You were impressive back there… “ I added, trying to somehow win her over with a compliment.

“You were pretty brave yourself. You wouldn’t believe how many tourists scream or cry or have mental breakdown when that stuff happens. You were so into the scene…. You didn’t make a peep. That was very appealing for me. And I have always found strong American men to be… sexy.” She finished.

If I’d have been drinking a drink I’d have spit it everywhere. I didn’t say a word…she continued. “If you might be interested, I can show you a night on the town…”

I accepted, of course. It was a night I will never forget… she knew all the best spots to eat and dance and when the night was nearly through, she took me to my bed, and I obliged without hesitation. To have her smooth skin pressed against mine was too much a temptation to resist.

And when I returned from my late summer vacation, August soon turned to September, and the beautiful Fatima never faded from my mind. Every thing about her was amazing.

But life picked up where it left off before my little African getaway… I had to attend business meetings and take business trips… work overtime and run meetings. And life went on like that, in the usual way…

But the following year, in June, I received a letter. It wasn’t your average bill or price of junk mail. This was a letter from overseas.

I opened the letter with ferocious curiosity. A small square paper fell to the floor as I pulled out the letter. I’d grab that in a minute. I began to read the contents of the letter.

My dear,

It is me, your Fatima. If you are recovering this letter, then I have not been cured of my illness. And I have passed on to another place.

In April, I gave birth to our twin babies. A boy and a girl. I have named them Izara and Xavier. I have enclosed a picture. This letter should be reaching you two weeks before the children arrive. They are to be sent directly to your house.

Please take care of our babies. I wish I could have raised them myself.

All my love,

Fatima Ahmed

Yes. So here I sit. The babies are asleep. And this so why I hate safaris.