An Ode for Scar (The Lion King)

Life hasn’t been easy, being the black sheep of the family for so many years. In fact, life has been a nightmare since I was exiled from Pride Rock. With a permanent scar forever etched into my face, my tail between my legs, I found refuge in the shadowlands.

And the hyenas… they’re the worst. A bunch of annoying chin-waggers. Their weak and submissive nature, I find obnoxious. They don’t stop laughing and carrying on, ever. They are loyal, but out of convenience. It’s the pecking order. I’m a lion. Keeping me happy suits their interests. They aren’t friends.

I still think about home. Pride Rock. I still cannot cope with the injustice of my exile. It makes me feel delusional, or I was surrounded by a delusional pride. My older brother, Mufasa, was always the golden child. Perfect in every way in the eyes of the pride. The “handsome high school quarterback”, to relate to the American audience. But he didn’t have the nerve to rule the kingdom properly. He led with a soft paw, and he knew it. He placated the pride, ignoring the danger rapidly approaching our kingdom.

Myself, I understood the need to lead with an iron paw. The world is a dark, dangerous, scary place. No one wanted to acknowledge the ugly truth. The shadowlands reckoned to take over Pride Rock. I could see it clearly, the rest of the pride was so naive. Ironically, I was cast into the same shadowlands I vowed to keep at bay.

While we’re on the subject, I let Mufasa die. It wasn’t an easy choice to make, but a pragmatic one. It was me or him. Letting him die saved my own life. And it was what was best for the pride. Again, a real king has to make difficult choices. Mufasa couldn’t make difficult choices. Life is no fairy tale, you can’t keep your head in the sand. Pride Rock needed ME.

And young Simba, Mufasa’s son and my nephew. He was without a father. I wasn’t heartless, I tried my best to explain everything to him. I didn’t want to sugar coat any of it. I felt it was my duty to explain how things really work, even though he was just a child. He deserved the truth, but he couldn’t handle it, he fled. I was exiled, Simba ran away. Pride rock was now in even worse shape than before.

I thought about Pride Rock often, while languishing in the shadowlands. Surrounded by dopey hyenas, barely any food or water. I worried about Pride Rock as much as my own survival. The hyenas didn’t understand. Occasionally, one or two of them would have the nerve to laugh at furrows in my brow, but as a lion, showing my teeth tended to keep the idiots in line.

I needed a plan. I can’t leave Pride Rock without a king. I knew it was my duty, my responsibility as the rightful heir to return. Restore order and bring prosperity back to the pride. Simba is gone. He left as a child, and I can’t imagine he survived alone, unless he was fortunate enough to find some friends. Not an easy task in the wild of Tanzania. I feared the worst.

I had to speak with the hyenas, employ their help. Not an easy task either, a goofy bunch that was nearly impossible to get organized. Not to boast, but I’ve been saying it for the longest time, I’m a natural leader. Organizing and leading a pack of wild hyenas has to be a testament to that. Plus, they knew better than to say “no” to me.

So yes, I took up with the hyenas. Not ideal, but I find it wise to use whatever resources you have at your disposal to meet your goals. The end justifies the means, after all. Actually, when I’ve been in a crummy mood, the fools could actually coax a laugh or two out of me at times. But we needed to be intrepid, serious. It was time to take back Pride Rock, me and my mercenaries.

I felt a sense of conviction, leaving the darkness of the shadowlands and stepping back into the radiance of the Africa sun. Still skeptical about the company I’m keeping now, but still intrepid, with a mission. I approached Pride Rock, scared but ready. Ready to step in and lead my pride to prosperity. Sure, I would have to make my case, explain the hyenas, but it’s always been my credo, “the end justifies the means”. That is what great leaders need to be brave enough to do.

I can’t imagine what my face looked like. When I saw my nephew Simba, full-grown, standing at the head of the pride. Not the young cub I remembered from forever ago. His eyes. He knew I was responsible for his father’s death. Right or wrong, he would not forgive me. He still neglected to realize his father’s leadership placed Pride Rock in jeopardy. I took his father’s life, he endeavored to take mine.

One conviction met another as we battled. I believed in saving Pride Rock. Simba wanted to avenge his father. We tried to tear one another apart. I was shocked by his strength. Simba wasn’t a cub anymore. He didn’t just want to cover me in fresh scars, he wanted my life. Attempting to maintain focus, I thought about the future of Pride Rock, if I were to fail.

With a heart true, a battle messily fought, I lost my life. I suppose there is no matching the anger and resolution of a child that lost their father. It superseded my ambition to save the kingdom. Both of us righteous, but only one could win.

I don’t say it in a boastful or egotistical way, but I died for Pride Rock. I will forever be an unsung hero, a “bad guy” in the history of our kingdom. It may come as a surprise that it didn’t bother me, taking my last weak breaths. I didn’t do what I did for acclaim, ego, honor, or roses at my paws. I did it for the pride. And I would do it all over again.