Reflections / Short Original Fiction

Again, the young man lingers before the store window. Again, his eyes disinterestedly pass over the birds, the dogs, the cats, the fish, and rest upon a small, plain brown monkey. This time, the young man has brought with him a pocket-sized notebook in which to record his impressions. Intently, he studies the monkey, with furrowed brow and eyebrows knit in keen concentration. He writes:

Entry # 1
Monkey seems depressed: glance desolate, limbs limp.

Next day
Gaunt. Haunted, hunted. Grimace betrays pain. Abysmal melancholy. Prevailing air of despair.

One week later
Inscrutable expression; nondescript features. Inanimate, insentient, lifeless.

Some days later
Relapse. Paralyzed with grief, bereft. Eyes tell of unceasing, relentless torment - indescribable sufferings. Of battles lost, and won, and lost again. Of harrowing hours spent in the proximity of death, in the breath of death, and narrow escapes. Still, there is a glimmer in the eyes, dim light playing on the surface of dark jewels. Hazy, lazy orbs travelling in vast space, stray stars from a far away universe. Glistening pieces of glass, slivers of silver sinking in a lake of crude oil. Smoldering eyes, glowing darkly, the last flickering flames of a great blaze. Still, a staunch resolution to persevere, to continue against the odds. Indomitable spirit.

The following day the monkey is no longer there. In its place sits a gray African parrot, red tale aflame. Hard, beady eyes stare back at the young man, hostile and suspicious. Suspecting the very worst, the young man anxiously hurries away. Later, when he returns in the evening, the young man is relieved to find the monkey. Much has changed, however. He notes:

Entry #5
A certain elasticity to the monkey's limbs. Arms outstretched, rest playfully atop its head. A discernible lightness, spiritedness even, marks the monkey's general mien. Wondrous Eyes. Endlessly endearing artlessness. Is it willful forgetfulness or innocence revisited?

Next day
What a difference a day makes. Now, one arm drops by the monkey's side. The other, still raised, droops - a pitiable tribute to better days. Much else has fallen, and continues to fall. The mercurial monkey now slouches, slumps, sags as though beneath an imaginary weight, an unseen burden. Lightness has been replaced by heaviness, spiritedness displaced by numbness. Glazed, unseeing eyes echo a mute cry of world-weary remonstrance. Unenviable beast of burden.

Following day
Today, the monkey sits bolt upright. Noble carriage, proud bearing, self-possessed. There is a faintly prophetic, soulful, look in the eyes. Premonitions of disaster, or a propitious fate? A newfound will, perhaps, a promise of eventual triumph? I wonder.

Few days later
Transfigured. Transported. Otherworldly. Venerable, serene demeanor, almost pious. A well of calm, an oasis of bliss. A sublime stillness surrounds him, emanates from him: the harvest of a lifetime passed in quiet pursuit of exalted, lofty ideals. The gaze is steady, tranquil, beatific - of one accustomed to looking down from dizzy heights. Of monkish abstemiousness. Of unfathomable depths. Unsullied, free of ill-will, guile, or self-interest. Arms and legs neatly folded, he sits: lost in thought, found in peace.

Two days later
Strange creature of infinite variety! Unwholesome comportment, lewd. Legs spread-eagle, shamelessly flaunt animality. Desperate sexuality. The obscene, brazen, un-blinking eyes of one who has lost to lust.

End of the week
Disquieting, sinister, ignoble.

A fortnight passes
Scarcely recognizable. Glancing askance, monkey hangs off a branch by one arm, grip slipping. Suspended above the Abyss, what does he see? Insufferably mocking expression. Half-hidden profile hints at caustic, scathing, sardonic expression. Lacerating eyes, bristling with insolence, uproariously lampooning Fate: his own and others'. Imperiously, contemptuously even, he sneers at the gaping Nothingness below. Unimpressed and unafraid, he leers, violently defiant.

The very next day the young man returns. He does not linger before the store window. He enters. Once inside, the young man tremulously tells the shop owner he wishes to purchase the small monkey. The owner is gone for a few minutes, and returns with a wan smile. Sorry, he says, the monkey must have been sold earlier today. The young man recoils, visibly shaken. A look of profound dread passes over his face. Startled, yet concealing his uneasiness with some success, the shop owner reaches out for the young man's arm. He pats him on the shoulder, good-naturedly. "Come, now," he says in a somewhat soothing, sing-song voice. "It's not the only stuffed animal in the world…"

© Yahia Lababidi

(Images: Pixabay)