Sleeping Under the Stars

Warning: This section includes potentially unsettling descriptions of a deceased animal.

At around eleven years old, my brother, cousin, and I decided to spend a night under the stars in our garden. We lived on a farm in Zimbabwe, where our home featured a lush, expansive garden that was my mother’s pride and joy.

We gathered our gear and made our way to our chosen spot in the garden. We laid out our sleeping bags, planning to stay awake gazing at the stars until late into the night. As the sun began to set, we engaged in a game of hide and seek, making use of the countless hiding spots in my mother's carefully designed landscape.

As darkness fell, we returned to our sleeping bags, with our loyal dog, Herbie, joining us. We settled in, watching the sunset transform the sky into shades of orange and pink before surrendering to the night. As we quietly conversed while admiring the cosmos, I found myself pondering what it would be like to travel through space. Eventually, we drifted off to sleep, blissfully unaware of the chaos that would soon unfold.

I was the first to awaken, greeted by the sun already climbing in the sky. A strange odor hit me, causing a wave of nausea. As I surveyed our campsite, nothing seemed out of place at first. However, as my eyes adjusted to the morning light, a horrific scene shattered my calm—blood and fur were scattered across a wide radius around us, reminiscent of a lion’s kill. Herbie was nowhere to be