The REAL king of Africa. Mamba, Black Mamba. No need for hiding, although occasionally there is maybe. My brothers have thrived in rocky hills, riverine forests but the place I prefer to live is the wooded savannah, home, dominated by me! In southern Africa where it gets quite hot, shade is like gold to me, using every bit of it to my advantage in the blazing days alongside eagles with vision as sharp as a hawk’s eye. The one thing that haunts me. I have the desire to live and kill until I can’t anymore.

Long gone sister. A brown snake eagle, with a wingspan of over five feet soared overhead. Just enough for me to catch the slightest of a glimpse of the flying beast, the moment still gives me shivers, it came swooping down on us. I took refuge in a broken down tree surrounded by rocks, just a perfect place to hide. Slithering at a speed of twenty kilometers an hour she still couldn’t get away. The last thing I remember is the eagle getting closer and closer to her, gripping onto her with its teeth. It ascended back into the air with it and that was the last I ever saw of her, not even a chance that she's alive. To this day I feel guilt and shame towards myself. Disgrace, I should’ve screeched at her to come with me in the hollow tree and we would still be seeking for mice together.

Despite this feeling deep inside of me of guilt, I continue on. Maybe we would have been searching for mice together. Staring at the termite mound I feel a sense of pride, of honor. The amount of times that it’s been used is immeasurable, whenever the eagles come back I bolt towards it, hiding inside with safety. If only us two had saved ourselves there before. If only.

In my head I’m hearing noises of an eagle. Part of me wants to go back to the termite mound but the other part of me is here. It’s only in my head I try to convince myself but over and over again the whistling of the eagle repeats itself. Echoes in my mind just like the time when she left forever. I notice the wing of an eagle out of the corner of my eye. I skip a heart beat. The termite mound or any trees aren’t anywhere near. The eagle is nose diving directly at me. I look it in the eye. It goes black.

Whilst my parents are out hunting, I play the waiting game. My two sisters, brother and me play together in the den, out of reach from almost all other predators… besides one. A young anaconda, just the perfect blend of size and strength that would be able to squeeze into our den and endanger us all. Though its never happened I could always rely on my instincts to tell me what to do. As me and my siblings paw and nip at each other trying to stay entertained we hear a rustle outside. Me and my siblings get excited, wondering what meal the adults of our raft have brought us. My brother runs out in excitement, within seconds he is snatched up and coiled up by a scaley beast. My siblings and I stumble back in fear. We start chirping for our parents hoping that they come to the rescue. I doubt the anaconda is satisfied with my one brother. While it’s distracted gulping down my sibling, I go deep into the den made by our parents and wait in fear. 

After about a minute of chirping I hear some rustling outside. The anaconda starts to move again. Its body so flexible yet you could see the muscle beneath the scaly skin. I see its face enter the doorway and it sticks its head into the den. I back up against the den wall. The anacondas black, soulless eyes stare at me. It waits a moment, its tongue flickering in and out of its mouth. Just as its starts to slowly open its jaws, it hisses and pulls its head out of the den. My parents! They’re here! As they bite and claw at the anaconda distracting it, my siblings and I make a run for the water. We have an advantage in the water, being faster and more agile than the anaconda. Luckily it isn’t to far as our riverside den is less that a few meters away. I start towards the water as fast as my little legs can go. I break the waters surface alongside my family, as we all run away from the anaconda. Finally safe, me and my siblings can take a moment to rest. Without the den that my parents made for us, we all would have been goners.