As Gnus go, Gilbert was pretty average. He was of average height, for a Gnu. He had an average colour, Gnu-wise and had pointy horns of average size. Overall, he was just one of the crowd, and he liked it.
When he awoke to the rising sun that morning, it seemed a pretty average day. Warm, sunny, a good to be alive kinda day.
Gilbert was not what you would call a leader. In fact, Gnus in general tended to follow not to lead. If a prophet of Gnus was put on earth by the Holy Wildebeest on high, he would have had no trouble finding followers. By the million.
Not having leaders presents an organisational problem, which they solve in the normal way. Committees.
If you feel that you want a decision, but have no one to make it, committees work, er , not at all. The discussions usually went along these lines:
"What do you wanna do?"
"Er, I dunno, what do you wanna do?"
Etc etc.
This would carry on for a while until some bright spark would say " Bugger this, I'm off down the pub!"
And others would follow.
And so, it was another day. Another day the same as all the other days. Gilbert liked that consistency and liked being one of the crowd.
Today was no exception. Although a decision needed to be made. The herd had arrived at the banks of a river. They tended to wander around aimlessly, except that there was a slight pressure there, somewhere in the back of their consciousness, that there was a direction to take. Greener grass? Maybe, but Gilbert liked clouds. He liked the patterns they made. As a young Gnu he would cry out "Hey! That looks like uncle Dilbert!" or "See that large rock!". As an adult, being macho and all, he no longer shouted aloud his thoughts, but he still liked putting faces to clouds, and always wanted a closer look. Plus he had needs.
Gilbert's needs had to be fulfilled. Gilbert liked eating, sleeping, drinking and the occasion locking of horns prior to sex. All his mates were the same. Well, that is, apart from those of the female persuasion. They liked eating, sleeping, drinking and shopping.
Although Gilbert felt happy with life, he still had those needs. His urge for sex had abated. He'd succeeded with several females between their shopping trips. Now, what he really needed was food. And there wasn't a lot of that around here due to all his mates gorging on what little was available. He, and his mates, needed to move on. Except for the little matter of which direction to take, bearing in mind that bloody great river.
Gilbert arrived at the latest committee meeting a little late. Or maybe a little early. It didn't really matter.
The usual "I donno, what do you wanna do"s were being thrown about, rapidly arriving nowhere as committees do.
This time, someone mentioned that perhaps they should try to get to the other side of this giant flowing waterhole. Thankfully, the Heath and Safety sub-committee pointed out that this would be insane, especially in the slips and falls department.
After much pointless wrangling, the usual "Bugger this, I'm off down the pub!" was heard from the usual suspects, and off they went, following what seemed, at the time, like a good idea.
Going down the pub is a very important social event for Gnus. Sometimes they would go days between drinks down the pub, but here, the pub was everywhere. It stretched for miles, and so seemed the obvious place to go. The trouble is, Gnus, as already pointed out, tend to follow. When you are standing at the bar, throwing back several pints of the local brew, it is beyond irritating to have loads of your mates trying to push through. After much pushing, shoving, and generally ignorant behaviour, one particular Gnu had nowhere to go but forward. He looked up and thought, "Bloody he'll, it's too bloody crowded here" then realised that, just across the way, there was a huge bar, devoid of any pushing or shoving! He did what came natural to him. He leapt.
In retrospect, he realised that it was crazy. But, too late. Gnus follow. And this they did.
Gilbert was, as usual, in the middle of the throng. As everyone was following, he had little choice but to join in. Soon, he and almost all the others had joined in this mad escapade.
Crazy? Maybe, but Gilbert new that the best place to be was in the middle. Besides, he had vague memories of having done this before. And he was ok yes? So go for it.
It was here that he discovered his innate inability to cling on to slippery wet rocks unseen underwater. He struggled to get a grip. He was halfway across when he found his footing. An oasis of land in a desert of water.
Sadly, others had the same idea. He was forced to go on, but this time he wasn't comfortably in the middle, but scrabbling on the outside.
Something told him this wasn't right. But, no choice, he had to go on.
Then, something changed. His feet, scrabbling for grip, continued to do so. Except one. One of his feet suddenly wouldn't move. Trapped in a rock? He tried to jerk it free. It would not budge.
After madly trying to break free for a while, he realised that all he was achieving was fatigue. He stopped. He looked behind to try to discern that which had entrapped him.
Shock.
It was not a rock. No, much more dangerous than that, there was something alive and really big attached to his back leg.
He twisted. He turned. It remained stuck fast.
Gilbert was scared. He cried out for help. He cried out for his friends. He cried out in vain. None would help. All pushed past locked in their own torment. Gilbert realised finally that fighting against this monster would not help, no saviour would come. The Health and Safety sub-committee had passed him by along with most of his herd. He continued to tire. He began to sink further into the flowing water.
This struggle took long minutes, interminable minutes which stretched and stretched. He could not escape, but he would not be dragged down. More than thirty long achingly painful minutes went by. Stalemate. But the beast attached to his leg was going nowhere.
His herd was still, after all this time and in their huge numbers, passing by. The numbers waxed and waned.
Suddenly, a change! The ebb and flow of passing Gnu went straight towards the struggling pair.
Collision! The crocodiles grip was loosened. Gilbert s leg was free!
This was his moment for freedom. His one chance to escape. In that moment, he could not believe his luck! He checked behind him to see that he was really free.
That was his fatal mistake. His terminal error.
Looking behind him, the crocodile struck!
This time, the crocs aim was true. Not a foot captured this time, but Gilbert's entire head!
This grip was never going to let go.
There could be no escape. Gilbert had no energy left. The intense pain and total incapacity was to be short, if not sweet. Gilbert was slowly but surely dragged down.
The excruciating pain was soon to dull. His attempts at a scream only succeeded in sucking in large volumes of dirty river water.
Gilbert sunk beneath the surface, consciousness fading, and with it the pain, and any hope of seeing friends, food or, most importantly it seemed, clouds ever again.
Gilbert died that day, but laid there gently bloating and putrefying at the bottom of the Mara, until, after a few days, he was ready to be slowly eaten by his ever patient killer.
In death, there is life. Just not for Gilbert.
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