The Giant has died and I cry. Elephants do cry.
I tried, I really tried to keep him alive.
I pushed the lawn mower away from Bill so that it would not run over him. The smell of gasoline and cut grass; the putt-putt of the mower; those things stick in my mind like taffy.
I tried to gently lift the Giant with my trunk. He did not move. I nuzzled him. He did not move. I nudged him gently with one hoof. He still did not move. His skin looked white-blue, like milk, like the moon. I trumpeted, loudly. Help! Come! Quickly! Hurry!
I rumbled. I ran. I stampeded until Violet and Trullia came, and then the winter camp neighbors, and then the ambulance with frantic red flashing lights and screaming siren. I wailed when I heard Violet say that he was gone.
But the Giant, he lost his life tonight. I lost my owner, my trainer, my keeper, my mahout. I lost everything—everything! That is why I refuse to move from this spot, behind the silver trailer with its blinking happy lights, in the big grassy field with the purple wildflowers and yellow weeds. My grief will keep me here, where I last saw the Giant. I can smell him still, my best friend Bill.
Bill the Giant. He had a large heart, too, and that heart killed him in the end.
They took him away in the ambulance, but I can still smell him. The scent of his skin, the salt; it lingers on my trunk.
Oh, I miss my Bill. I am alone. I am so, so alone.