the neighbours beagle go a hold of it. too soon. the troop had just arrived into their old home, into the green that the area is made up of, or what remains.
i heard it from the room. the screams of pain and coughs of desperation from family. they’re all family, all of them. one was too slow, too daring, too young and spry. all that a teenager is. it was small.
now there is one less. one less in the troop, one less to rummage through the trash on mondays, one less to travel across the city, one less monkey.
but its natural. the kill order was in place, the monkey was too cheeky and the dog was too fast, not violent. it’s the order of how things are supposed to be. the monkey should’ve known better, should’ve learnt faster, should’ve had a berry while it could. cause that’s all it wanted. a berry.
so what mr beagle killed the monkey on a wednesday afternoon. it’s to be expected. they’re just monkeys.
but i can hear them. the cries of mourning, the heavy silence in the troop. that’s all there is now. no body to be seen, except some red smears and tufts of fur on the front lawn. mr beagle was hungry after all.
it’s the order of things. i should tell myself this. it’s natural. i should tell myself this. but what about it is? the order of things in which over years and years of pushing away and pelting monkeys for the space? the humans space which we have right to? who has the right, the human, or the monkey?
i can hear it now. the monkeys have moved on, to another property. the sound of the thunder, the pelting of rubber. the screams of more monkeys.
but it’s the natural order after all.
