The Human Zoo (1)

Chapter 16 - Jax

The sound of thunder kept me up last night or maybe it's due to my perpetually racing mind as I relive the exchange between Ben and Priya. Why do I care so much? I don't know. Either way, I didn't sleep and now I'm forced to listen to the soft chatter of strangers. Currently, there's a council meeting—at least I think it's a council meeting, it's hard to tell—going on. Many people sneeze and cough due to the close quarters. The complaints reflect their lack of human rights and I find myself appalled.

"He stole my bananas. I always keep a few just in case they don't feed us again and he took them! We shouldn't be starved by our people!"

"She's a cheater! I thought she loved me."

"We want cleaner water in the troughs. The grim on top of is making me sick!"

Their requests are not only minimal and necessary but also extremely affordable. This zoo is below budget every year. My father makes sure of it because it allows him to receive a heftier bonus.

The complaints increase in tone and frequency. My body starts to hum with rage, matching the growing intensity of their words. When I hit a boiling point, I leave, afraid I'll offer reassurance and give away my identity.

My tired feet don't make it far as I stop in the middle room, or as Ben and Priya call it, the "den." The inside enclosure is merely an elongated hallway with three different entryways that connect to the sleeping area, the den, and the bathroom. I assume the lack of space is meant to limit the available options, causing most of us to spend our time outside under the watchful eyes of the viewers.

Each room is shaped and colored differently; the only similarity between them is the giant bay window placed on the wall farthest from the entryways. The window is the length and height of the entire wall, which allows curious eyes to see everything. The most interesting facet about the zoo, I think, is the bathing areas. Initially, there were no facilities for hygienic purposes. The animals did their business outside and workers cleaned it up. However, management complained and said cleaning up after the animals made them equals and Eugenics should have no part in fecal clean-up. To me, all shit looks the same.

The solution to this predicament was simple—install restrooms—and they did. It's an artless design with showerheads, toilets, and no privacy barriers. Usually, the water is on a minimum of every three days. It's yet to turn on since my arrival.

The den is stuffy as I step over the open threshold. There are no doors here. A wind of dust rockets into the air as I lay down on the semi-brisk cement floor of the den. A few books lie scattered on the ground next to me, a mix of varying genres, and I chuckle at the irony. My people believe that these animals are too stupid to learn and yet they leave material here encouraging them to educate themselves. It's obvious who the real idiots are: we are. We underestimate their ability to adapt to change and we forget that these animals are our ancestors, that they are ... people.

My time here so far is minimal, yet I'm shocked by the increasing comfortability I feel around the small group of strangers that have taken me in. They're shockingly friendly and personable, opposite of what I was raised to believe. Deice's voice infiltrates my headspace: if we're wrong and they aren't the animals everyone thinks they are, then I'd be scared to leave. Because if it's not true, then what are we?

"I don't know, Deice. I don't know."

The room becomes muggier as the boredom suffocates me, relentlessly pressing me further into the ground. Sitting up, the sticky skin on my back peels from the ground like Velcro. Leaning back against the wall that faces the enormous bay window, I watch the few people coming and going. I turn to adjust and feel my back—which has re-glued to the wall with sweat—slowly peel off like tape before re-adhering itself to another part of the wall. The viewers look judgmental with their expensive and high-quality tailored clothes on their bodies and smug expressions on their face. To be on the receiving end of these looks is unnerving. It makes me angry. Why are you looking at me like that? Do you know who I am? Then I remember they don't and I'm just another person, no, animal, in here.