The monkey enclosure

You will hear them before you see them. They make more noise than any other animal at the zoo. And you’ll smell them too. They’re covered in their own filth and the ground is littered with their waste. They treat everything around them as if its only purpose is to indulge their personal desires. If they behaved like this in their own jungle, they wouldn’t survive.  

Suddenly, they notice us approaching.

Desperate screeching blankets the entire space. They jump up and down with excitement; hands wave back and forth, beckoning companions toward spots where it’s easier to see us. They crane their necks above the crowd to get a better view and the masses at the rear push forward, pressing the backs of those in front. The lucky ones against the barricade poke their hands through the bars and stretch their fingers out to try and touch us as we pass. They shove objects and body parts into our faces and plead with us for attention.

If they could, they would tear us apart with their bare hands and take the pieces home to show all the other monkeys; souvenirs to remind them how they felt while watching us. Anything they don’t want will be left to rot on the ground with the Coke bottles and empty film canisters, as a reminder that the tour stopped here.