The Mammoth

As I entered the preserved cave in the hall of the mammoth in the grand natural history museum, I held my breath against the beautifully-shocking primitive paintings of men hunting a mammoth. The paintings were simple impressions of hands dyed with blood. There was a painting of a giant mammoth, apparently a mother, trying to fend her baby against the spears of the hunters. Suddenly, the surroundings collapsed. I found myself looking straight into the mother mammoth eyes full of tears. I felt the heavy cold iron spear in my hand. I smelt flesh, wool, blood, and death in the air. I heard the loud shouts of the fellow hunters as they were preparing to stab the mammoth to death after they had trapped her into the pit. I felt the panic and confusion of the baby mammoth who was frightened and didn't understand that his life itself was being questioned. At this very moment, I turned to the crowd and shouted" we shall not separate a mother from her child. We shall respect mother nature who has given both us and the beast's life. Hunger can wait another day but dignity can't". We helped the mammoth set free with her kid seeing that her tears became that of gratitude and hope not of sorrow. "Sorry, mom," I said. Suddenly, I felt a hand grabbing mine and the voice of my daughter saying" Dad, you see, mammoth had babies too, how wonderful. I smiled as I felt that I wasn't a contributor to the great extinction of the mega fauna of the late ice age. I wish I had been the mammoth itself defending her world against us.