The harsh African plains must be one of the most uncomfortable places in the sixth world. The dry season has turned lush plains into dust bowls. The sun overhead beats down on me like an unforgiving giant. I’ve only been out here a few hours, but I can already feel my skin turning red from sunburn. I couldn’t bare to open my eyes if it wasn’t for my shades. The blazing sun is too bright to the point that it would probably blind me. The wind is no less comfortable. It whips up dust from the dried earth and slaps it into my face. Sometimes it picks up enough speed to where the dust feels like needles against my skin. I can’t stand it. I have to get inside my jeep and wait for the wind to calm back down.
In the small, mangled bushes a rhinoceros pushes his way through. It’s not a true rhinoceros, but a subspecies brought on by the Awakening. This rhino is huge, easily half the size of my landrover. It has no problem trotting its way across the plain. I’m amazed that this animal finds the dry bushes edible, but it happily chews away on them as it has for decades. The rhino doesn’t seem to notice the heat either. The animal’s thick hide must be good at holding in water. The little birds on the rhino’s back pace back and forth. The rhino and these birds form a symbioses. The birds eat parasites on the rhino, providing them food while the rhino gets rid of the unwanted ticks.
I open the sunroof and boost myself out. Once again the wind bites at me with its dusty touch. I try to ignore it as best I can. I lug a rifle from out and brace it across the roof. It’s an old Remington 950. The weapon’s ancient, wooden grip feels rough in my hands. My fingers fumble a large, explosive round from my pocket. The shell’s casing is hot from the heat. I bring the sights to my eyes, squinting against the sun as it glares down. The barrel of the rifle is pointed at the rhino as it casually grazes on the bushes, completely unaware of its fate. The trigger feels cold under my finger, despite the heat.
I pause for a moment. I don’t know why I do. The rhinoceros doesn’t expect a thing. I focus my resolve, bring my eye in line with the sights. My finger curves around the trigger as I take a breath and hold it. My finger pulls against the trigger.
The bird on the rhino’s back flaps its dusty wings and takes flight. I see it flying off, but my rifle is still pointed at the large mammal. The rhinoceros stops grazing and looks up. Is it looking right at me? Does it know what’s going to happen to it? Do I know?
BANG!