In theory, sleeping came easy there.
She lay nestled in a corner, her back to the Visitors; the bald monkeys and their offspring would be here for some time yet just to observe her. Sleep was better. Until it wasn’t. Until she stirred with a sigh and a yawn, unable to keep the noise out any longer. She would have to entertain herself until the Feeders came.
The Feeders were also bald monkeys, but they were the only kind that could feed her—could subdue her if she ever decided enough was enough. She had never seen such a thing happen, though she had known plenty who whispered such things. Some of them screamed, growled, screeched such things.
She saunters.
There is no push or motivation right now. On occasion, she gets the urge to run around haphazardly. It makes the monkeys who watch smile and laugh; today is not one of those days. Sometimes it helps to do so even though they laugh and point at the creature who doesn’t have to run but does anyway. It’s as if they say, “silly Tiger, you needn’t hunt for your food!” She knows. She knows the Feeders will bring it to her. So today, she just waits. And waits. And waits. She tells herself she only waits for food, but she can feel the untruth.
She finds a nice spot far enough back that for a while she can pretend they are not there, watching, waiting as she does. They want to see her roar or leap or swim. She will do none of those things today. She lays for as long as she can stand, then ends up sauntering again. She walks slowly to nowhere. There’s nowhere for her to go. The anger spikes.
Before she registers it, she is at the front of the Enclosure. There are so many delicious offspring just past the glass. She stares, imagining how they would taste. How it would feel to run, chasing, then finally sinking her teeth into something she fought for. She could do it. She could prowl and wait, then pounce. They would all scatter. She might even fail her first target, but if the glass were not there, she would tear into something’s throat, she knows it.
One monkey meets her eye while she fantasizes. She stares. The monkey stares right back like it might fantasize about having the jugular to tear into. They stare at one another for a long time.
That night—the hubub of the day gone and quiet—the sounds of the other trapped creatures rose in offering to the fullness of the moon.
“Release,” the moon says. “This is your lot; best accept it now.” She does not yell it, but casts it out from her borrowed light in whispers.
They cannot release; the other beasts trapped in the same hell Tiger is in will cry to the moon until they’re hoarse except the ones who don’t see it as hell. Those hoots and hollers and chirps and skitters lend themselves to a different tone: there is nothing wrong here. Tiger’s muscles disagree. They twitch in confrontation, begging her to run into the night—to greet the moon as the wolves sometimes do. There is no amount of howling or growling that makes the twitching stop.
Finally, she falls asleep, nestled somewhere terribly familiar; her yellow-green eyes resting so her heart might see what she cannot—so that it might pick up where it left off.
Tiger dreams.
She doesn’t dream often; when she does she doesn’t know how she can even picture such places. She has only ever known the Enclosure. Even in her dreams, knowing this makes her ache. The ache is soothed only by tall, dry grasses and a clear sky that opens like an egg, oozing clouds and stars outward as far as she can see. It spreads and spreads, widening like the light of the moon is pushing it out, blowing against the atmosphere, as if saying, “Look! See how much more there is—what could be!”
There is a tree in the distance and for the first time, she can run—truly run—so run she does.
Her limbs stretch and her paws pound as she takes in the air around her and fills her lungs with delicious freedom. There is no one to watch her. No yips or squeals or screams. There is only her paws hitting dust and the moon and the tree and the oxygen fueling her cells for what feels like the first time in her life.
It is the biggest tree she has ever seen and she wants to climb up. The tree reaches and stretches out to her, calling her. Her heart reaches back. Eventually, her limbs tire and in the way of dreams, the tree seems to come to her. Suddenly, it is looming above her and she can hardly believe its size. A calmness washes over her. A part of her aches. Always. She could just be here with the tree and the dust and the moon, forever. She could.
Something shifts in the tree branches above her. Her calmness snaps to excitement. Joy. Her body moves of its own volition as her claws dig into the crisp bark and lends itself to her climb. Her body contorts and moves as it was designed to. Suddenly, she is up. Then up and up! She isn’t sure what she chases, but she knows she hungers for it. She wants it more than anything she has ever wanted.
She is about to reach the top—about to find her quarry—when a sound pulls her back into reality.
She wakes. It is painful.
A pale monkey offspring is crying and screaming at the top of its lungs. How long had she slept for? She yawns then grumbles and sighs. At least she will eat soon. Light tells her it is almost time for the Feeders. The dream leaves her uneasy and after her handlers feed her, she whines and struggles to feel well. A growl as if she is still hungry escapes her as if she is insatiable.
She paces, restless, and then she naps; she tires only of the constant spectacle, of always being watched. She urges herself to get back to that place, wherever it was. She does not know how. “How?” Her heart asks. The monkeys filter in, day in, day out; and every time she sleeps and fails to return, her disposition sours.
In the day, she paces the perimeter more and more often, exhausting her body as best she can but it’s almost like her body remembers running through the wilderness with the open sky and the tree and—she growls again, plopping herself down on the grass meant to emulate a jungle, but it is not big enough—not open enough.
Several weeks later, the monkeys proved especially loud and boisterous as the sun reached its zenith for the millionth time in her lifetime. She felt herself sigh out of her nap before she could fully wake; frustration held in her throat like something had crawled in there while she dozed. By then, her handlers had noticed the bitter mood but hadn’t known what to do. She was normally so well behaved. She had been fed and provided extra enrichment and still she continued to wake from her dozing in the sun with a grumble and a growl.
She paces again. Then again and again. She surveys the monkeys who flowed in and out and around the Enclosure, always coming and going at their leisure. She couldn’t understand why these were the creatures that held her freedom. They were pale and weak and gangly. They could take off their skin and put it back on, which she thinks is a fine enough skill, but their offspring are useless. She watches as the fully grown monkeys help the offspring with their second skins. Their breath make ghosts in the air. Tiger wants to steal them from this plane; bat them away with a swipe of her claws.
The female monkey was back, staring back at her with that same still stare and for the first time Tiger thinks there is kinship there. She is the only monkey that seems to see her—see into her—and for a moment, there is only the two of them breathing as though through one another’s skin—as though Tiger’s black and white skin was the same as her brown. The monkey knows something, Tiger determines, and she hopes she will know it soon too.
Tiger goes back one more time.
This time, the tree languishes below her as she balances within, reaching into the Earth with strong roots. The branches around her sway in the wind, reaching towards the horizon; from her perch in the tree, she watches the idyllic landscape darken into serene ink. The stars glimmer fully against dark sea sky. Tiger stretches and digs her claws into the bark to maintain her balance. She’s rather pleased with herself. The wind blows and shakes the tree; it rustles pleasantly and she sniffs the fresh air. Her throat purrs with delight.
She only closed her eyes for a moment, but when she opens them, the wind grows stronger as it materializes a form before her. It took a dream-while, but eventually a monkey that looks familiar stands in the center of the space. Tiger can hear their blood pumping, drumming life into the atmosphere and something overtakes her. She can feel the reverberations in her throat as her body prepares. Slowly, gently, she reaches her limbs to a branch below her and lets herself slink down, branch by branch. The monkey does not move. Instead, it seems to stand and stare into the galaxy above them both. Slowly, gently, she touches paws to dirt which puffs up at her slight touch. She’s soundless as she watches. Waiting for the right moment…
The monkey turns suddenly on a dime. Their eyes locked in place with hers. Brown meets yellow like earth meets sun; flame meets mountain and declares it will engulf its entirety in its heat. The growl was involuntary, but the monkey is not afraid. Instead, it seems curious, like it had that day in the confines of the Enclosure. Their eyes stay locked in place as tiger circles, preparing the right angle. Tiger shows respect by not going straight for it, by waiting. After-all, this is what would give her life. She will sink her teeth into it and finally breathe again; life would return in full and Tiger would know what it meant to feel sacred again.
Her limbs move of their own volition and suddenly she is pouncing, leaping for her quarry with elegant brutality. Her claws out, she reaches for the monkey feeling the skin puncture and the blood pump faster and faster—
Tiger woke and growled, mournful and frustrated all over again. For months, Tiger struggled against the life she found herself in. Every day she paced until she was so exhausted that she had no option but to rest. It gave her no satisfaction; food did not nourish her, nothing enlivened her. Everything she did she did to try to get back there.
She clawed at her handler once in the time since she had started dreaming and that did nothing but ensure they were more careful—more guarded—against her. She lay in the sun as the wind blew in the now-summer heat. She could smell so many things on the wind while she dozed that it made her nose twitch. Now she just lazed about, her malaise weighing on her like stone and iron. Soon, she couldn’t be certain she could get up again.
A new smell filled the air; something acrid that reeked of chemical made her hair stand on end. Her nose twitched again in anticipation. A loud booming sound followed, and then came the screams. These were not the ebullient screams of her every-day. These screams were full of horror.
Tiger didn’t know chaos; she only knew anguish. Now, all she knew was confusion as this new thing clouded over her existence. The sounds continued, louder than any monkey had ever been. She cowers, but only for the slightest moment until—
Glass was breaking. The world shattered around her. The other creature’s sounds reverberated around her. They screamed: freedom.
Tiger looked cautiously from her shelter as things settled around her. Indeed, the glass of the Enclosure lay in tiny pieces around everything. She could hear bird wings taking flight and hairy monkeys squealing in delight as they too left to somewhere else. The bald monkeys had fled, taking their screams with them. Her paws stepped over the glass which hurt but not enough to stop her from examining this space one last time.
Her heart is pounding in her ears, but it is excitement and joy—it is her dream coming true.
As she walks over the wreckage, her eyes catch sight of the bald monkey that had kept returning. It hadn’t run away. Tiger crouches, and she shows respect by waiting until their eyes meet once more.
