This is a tale about Mowgli. Mowgli is on his own, even though he has less years than the Fast Five series. Mowgli is on the short side. His pouty lips are framed with flawless skin. His eyes tell of years of experience despite his youthful facade. His hair black and thick and wild like the jungle that surrounds him. He is a commanding figure, despite his short stature. Mowgli knows of great pain and misery, in this jungle, nothing is certain except uncertainty.
Short Story Section
This issue we will read Mowgli's End, a short story by Natasha Childers.
You must know how to write what you say, and understand not only what you are saying but what is being said to you.”One night, happiness lived in fear of what came. A striped creature with curated claws and fang-like teeth was on the prowl. He was no ordinary striped one, he was a male striped one. His parents shivered in their fortress as a steady growl unfolds in the north corner of the shanty. Then a single orange striped tale walks closer to the entrance and . . .”
“AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!” Mowgli screams as he lurches off of his low hanging branch. Mowgli dreams of his parents’ death every night. It’s not completely just his parents he misses. He misses not being able to talk to anybody with a pulse that understands him. A fern and a poison dart frog doesn’t count.
Mowgli eventually fell back asleep, tossing and turning in his makeshift bed. He didn’t hear the rumble at first. Or at least, he thought it was his stomach. Anyway, he is dreaming of roasting the great striped one and having a great feast. Then the second rumble sounded, waking him out of his slumber.
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