Meet Sol Yulaan- a young Saiyajin from a mysterious subspecies known as "Yabans." Her young life has been a linear sequence of pain and battle: a primeval barbarian by birth, raised to be a killing machine of a warrior, and her little body broken th...
Down went the baboon. Its brother stood over with a forked branch, ready to deliver another blow. The human crowd above held their breath and aimed their cameras. One human squeezed the handle of a navy blue duffle bag.
Vicente Xaxalpa looked towards the primate enclosure with a smirk. He stood clad in a green zoot suit and matching panama hat.
Heavy and distorted, a woman's voice spoke to the whooping crowd: "They're known to be violent. One of the most violent primates after humans and chimpanzees."
"Why are they fighting?" a passerby sporting frosted tips asked.
Vicente twisted and lifted the brim of his hat. The answer, "Nacho pushed Kosha into the pond," earned a nasty laugh.
Then he added, "Then again, monkeys love fighting. They don't need a reason."
THWACK!!
The crowd hollered again: down below, Kosha ripped the branch out of Nacho's hands and smacked him with it until he learned a primal lesson. The monkey made a new move against its prowling brother: strength in numbers. Other baboons crowded around, several taking on defensive postures. Each new motion and individual doubled the tension.
Vicente spoke again, "I'd like to imagine that if they had sapience, they'd prove once and for all to us humans that we are not as degenerate as we think we are." He clutched his duffle bag so tight that the polyester nearly fused with his palm. "There's always going to be more insane creatures out there."
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Vicente adjusted his glasses with a nudge and walked on, handling the duffle bag with greater care until the man threw his arm under the bottom to lift it to a more comfortable level. Doing so brought him nearly to his knees with a yell, and a passerby attempted to catch him.
"I'm okay," he said, "I'm okay! Heh heh! Wasn't paying attention, is all."
Yet he did not attempt to meet his helper's gaze, instead looking to see if the bag had torn or opened. Satisfied to see it still intact, he rebalanced himself and rushed onwards before the person could speak.
This bright sunshine, the happy crowds, the mellow air and green trees, it filled Vicente with a passion for life and a love for living. As if nothing had happened, he strode down a stone tile path, keeping the duffle bag close over his shoulder. That bag swayed him about, and with effort, he kept himself steady. The bag slung over his shoulder turned the heads of multiple passersby who had to convince themselves it was real. However, Vicente did not struggle with its weight— only its form and having to navigate such a cumbersome size in a tight crowd.
Soon he came upon a map, but he passed it without examining it deeply. Onwards he went 'round the curved walkways, over streams and through dark tunnels, passing by patrons of all sorts. Schoolchildren on a field trip, young lovebirds clad in baggy clothes eager to see the exotic animals, families off from whatever obligations, kids ignoring the real creatures for Pokémon cards, whatever they did for whatever reason, he felt good vibes towards them all. Beneath the junipers and magnolias, the sun broke through in large and small shining dapples against the ground, striking azaleas and mossy rocks as if feeding them. It was a good day, clear and cool. He passed a stand, built like the old ones, where they sold tickets. People wanted to see the animals. So did he.
