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Short Story - A Revelation of Global Morality

A girl and her mother’s short trip to the zoo takes an unexpected turn for the worse.

By Jessica Cohen, January 26, 2021

I remember walking through the towering, tinted doors, holding my mother’s hand and squeezing it with anticipation.

Somehow I could feel her slightly pulling back, a timid dog attempting to back away from the petrifying doors of a vet’s office. It must have been mere exhaustion. Yet, there’s no possible way one could succumb to a simple weakness such as fatigue on a day like this. Not on my long-awaited birthday. This fateful day, I finally would achieve the dream of a lifetime, the same desire I wished I wished into reality as I blew out my candles last year, and consequently had a coughing fit in efforts to catch my breath afterwards: Today, I would visit the zoo.

My heightened breathing worried my mother as I used as much force as I could to push open the tall doors. I recall she had brought my air purifying mask in case I got too excited; we always carried one around in case we needed a stronger concentration of clean oxygen than the polluted atmosphere could provide. I accepted the mask graciously as I pranced inside. Her anxious attempts to slow me down could never compete against the pure intensity of my exhilaration. Rarely having seen any major forms of wildlife for as long as I could remember, the idea that I would gawk at the animals portrayed in my grandmother’s old children’s books felt like a fantasy; a glorious, beautiful, Wonderland

Remarkably, my mother held her terrified composure, breathing intensely yet scarcely into her oxygen mask, so as to not waste the precious contents she had generated inside. Looking back, it is more than understandable to me why she was so petrified of our surroundings - in particular bringing her own daughter into these surroundings. Yet, I couldn’t help but mistake this confusion for drowsiness; after all, it’s not like this attitude was out of the ordinary. The now  pervasive, extreme heat always seemed to tire my mother out, leaving her with a slight, burning, red, and wrinkled face that molded itself into a weary expression.

Luckily, I had enough enthusiasm for the both of us as I rapidly scanned the free map of the zoo that would showcase each living being. I told myself this would be a day I’d never forget, and to an extent, I had the right idea.

The concept that I had evolved from monkeys was absolutely hilarious yet enchanting to me at that age. I would look at their illustrations in Grandma’s old board books and smile, even when I was too old for such literature. I obviously had never seen one prior to that day, and I remember wondering if they’d all look like that cartoon, brown, teddy-bear-esque being with a banana in his hand, swinging across the enclosure, waiting for a friend such as I to play along with it. Yet, the Bornean Orangutan had other plans for me.

I could see what he was supposed to be, the plaque in front of me was legible enough to make out from the past, presumably young, guests’ scratches, scribbles and apparent disrespect. I saw the photograph though, that picture of the model Orangutan that utterly shattered my schema of it as I looked back up at the enclosure.

Inside sat a hologram of the last being of its species recorded alive.

A hologram.

I could hear my mother make an unintelligible sound. Quiet yet felt in all directions, a muffled whine of sorts that wasn’t entirely drowned underneath her mask. She was on the verge of tears, not just because she knew where she was, but because now she knew I had just started to reach the same revelation.

I picked my head up and attempted to sound pleased, knowing my mother had searched for the longest time to find a zoo I could attend for my birthday, and that this trip must have cost her a fortune. I couldn’t be ungrateful, I couldn’t cry in front of her today, despite the way her body language urged me to follow her melancholy example.

Further observation into the display highlighted the lack of any real enclosure at all. The background was plastered onto the end of the area with a wallpaper, making it look much less rich and vivid than one could tell at first glance. The foliage was all fake as well, for the same reason the primate couldn’t be featured among this presentation: extinction due to loss of habitat. One could tell its man made origins by its glossy, thick, waxy leaves. I could easily identify that material as the same material featured in their living room bouquets, and outdoor attempts at gardens, that is, if anyone attempted at all. Where we lived, it was more than obvious any nice plants were fake. This was entirely credited to the unpredictable weather patterns of drastic rainfall mixed with scorching heat, both frying and flooding all life in its path.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to move on and continue my celebratory tour, as I was already disappointed. Proceeding from this simple yet morbid presentation felt disrespectful to this poor being and its man made habitat; I later discovered had both been wiped off our planet due to deforestation for the sake of palm oil drilling. I felt conflicted on leaving so soon, feigning indifference despite my newfound revelation of this species’ extinction. Yet, I couldn’t bear to stare at this staged grave any longer. My mother caught hold of this, or maybe it was her own fear of the haunting hologram that resulted in her demanding rather quickly, 

“Let’s go see what else they have.” I internally thanked her for providing me no choice but to leave. Surprisingly, the zoo did have live animals available for viewing and they were absolutely traumatizing.

First was the Glossy-Back Cockatoo, barely alive and trembling. Most of her black and all of her red feathers were burned from the wildfires she was rescued from. The fires had left but a small, burned, husk of a bird, only somewhat identifiable by the sharp, broken beak and the remains of her talons. Being one of the last of her species alive on the planet, she was considered to be one of the especially praised “attractions” within the facility. I kept a mental note of the language they used on their maps and flyers that advertised the enclosures, addressing each animal as an “attraction”. My impression of the naming back then was that it was because seeing each species would be fun, providing a chance to interact and play. Now I understand the wording to hold a much more sinister tone.

There are many things I understand now.

I understand what I saw that day with my mother

I understand that the graveyard I toured that was mislabeled a collection of mere attractions.

I longingly had wished to take a look into the past and immerse myself in the fantasy of seeing real wildlife in front of me, being too youthful and optimistic to see the truth. It all is dead or dying, and if on the off-chance it is neither, it can only mean that the healthy party was the perpetrator.

Could I have been the culprit back then? Was I actively destroying the remains of life in the reality I was born into?

Not directly, but I still never established myself as being entirely separate from it. I still never took steps to do my part in reversing it. I spent my whole life wallowing in the sadness I had for not being born in another time, where I would be able to see those species well off and thriving, rather than attempting to allow my own children to see any. There is too much time in this world to justify our inability to start change, and too little not to take advantage of this time and use it meaningfully.

Jessica Cohen is an author and frequent contributor for Young Patriots Magazine.