The Cage

What’dya think of this place, Phil?

What was that?

What’dya think of this place?

What do I think of this place?

Yes, what’dya think of this place, Phil?

You mean our immediate surroundings or the entire area we’re in at the present moment?

I mean what’dya think of the place we’re sitting in, the four hundred square feet of space we have to roam around?

You mean the cages we’re in.

Yes, the cages we’re in. What’dya think of this place?

I’d give you my honest opinion, but what purpose would it serve?

Are you assuming my opinion of this place is the same as your opinion of this place?

You know me as well as anyone, Moonbeam. I can’t get over that name.

Child of the sixties.

Child of weird parents.

Must you attack my parents?

Rather I attacked you?

You know me better that that, Phil.

I’d like to get to know you better.

Ha!

Is that all you can say?

Ha! I can say much more than Ha! Back to the original question, my dear Phil. The cage you’re in, what is that, a painting of a tree? That all you got?

No more than the kids drawing of a, what is that Moonbeam? A drawing of the moon? Green? Really?

Makes me think of supper last night. Old cheese sandwich. You know what I want?

What do you want, Moon?

Bananas, oranges, peaches, watermelon, cantaloupe, soft apples, kumquats, kiwi. Look at this, Phil. See this turnip? The patch we have gives us radishes, squash, peas, carrots, corn, cabbage, broccoli, cauliflower, lettuce, beans. Imagine fresh fish ‑ a billion kinds, bear, chicken, beef, pork, lobster, ostrich, lion, tiger, elephant, eel, snake ‑ a billion kinds. Instead they toss bread and popcorn at us.

Don’t forget the shit, Moon.

Explain.

The shit. In the corner. The fact that we have to shit in the corner is enough to piss a guy off. They rarely clean the shit. And the water, oh shit, the water. They spike it with vodka, rum or gin. All we have to drink out of are these brown bowls.

Complain, complain, complain. Phil, d’ya ever think how lucky we are compared to others?

How lucky are we, Moonbeam?

We get our meals free…

When we get them.

…We don’t have to pay rent…

…We Can’t leave…

They do clean up after us sometimes…

Yes, Moonbeam. You’re right. We still have to shit in the corner.

Don’t let it bring you down. They always remove the mounds.

Waxing poetic?

Wax a woman?

Wax on, wax off.

A wax woman.

A woman of wax.

I’d like to wax a woman. Make her into a candle, light her fire then blow her out.

What does that mean, Moonbeam?

Sexual connotations aren’t your strong suit.

Hung up on it, are you? You’ve been in the cage as long as I have and the only sex you get is what you receive manually ‑ and you’re noisy about it too. Remember what it was like to wear clothes?

That was a long time ago.

If they gave us clothes maybe they’d send mates. Imagine, Moon. After a time of being inactive and knowing the equipment works, it’d be nice to get out and plow a few furrows. They don’t want that. They fear sex would bring out some kind of animalistic power in us, and they’d lose control. Why else would they have cages?

On the contrary, Phil my friend, you proved in your very own statement that sex is important because they fear it.

Perhaps they’re concerned we’ll reproduce. Look at you ‑ scraggly beard, dirty, godammed skinny. Glad you don’t have a mirror. You’re teeth are crooked, yellow and broken. You’ve never seen the scar on your back. Your ass is hairy and your pecker looks sick and deformed. Those feet must stretch fifteen inches at the end of those bony legs. And if I could smell the stench through this cage, I’d bet you reek too.

Like you say.

Contemplating. Just wait a moment. Hmmmmm. Nowhere to go?  Nothing to say? Moonbeam, how long before this place opens?

Five hours, plenty of time.

Strange to think we don’t exist.

Excuse me?

Those who’ve never seen us. The quintessential existential philosophical conundrum.

So, my dear Phil, we don’t exist.

Ah, but here’s the great part. They don’t either.

Then why mention it?

Doesn’t it bother you that we don’t exist?

But we do. Phil. We do. I can see me. I can see you.

Do you think of those people we’ve never seen?

Now I am!

But in normal, everyday thoughts ‑ even when they open the place and everyone walks by. Do you think they think of us?

What you’re saying is if they think we exist then we do, but if we’re not in the g‑spot of their imagination, then we don’t exist?

Exactly, Moon. Now you’re talking!

Bull shit.

Why?

Why ask why, Phil? If the tree falls in the forest and not a soul is in listening distance, does that timber make noise. Who gives a shit? The fact remains a tree fell. Should I be concerned if the tree doesn’t make noise when it falls if no one’s around to hear it?

Exactly my point. You don’t care about the tree ‑ it’s as though it didn’t exist. Those we don’t know don’t know we exist and therefore don’t care. It’s as though we really don’t exist.

Phil? I mean. But we do. Don’t we?

Not this again.

No, not this again.

Moonbeam? I was thinking why we’re here and what it means to be in this place. The cage separates us from the outside, but that’s only a small portion of that separation. Here we sit ‑ or here we are ‑ you know? This is a place to stay and many don’t even have that. But we didn’t choose to live here; we were put here without anyone consulting our opinions.

But, Phil, this is all we know.

You know why don’t you? We’ve been forced to stay here since birth with no other option offered and no clue as to how we can get out of here because these bars keep us from getting out.

Wait a minute! Even the food we’re given on those rare weeks is half rotten or second hand ‑ someone’s compost. The smell is often so overpowering that very few people come to view us because of the stench. We never get clothing anymore, but at least they spray us down every once in a while.

Small consolation.

And we must be ugly. Why would they put us here, the farthest out of the way place they could find. I know you’re ugly, and you know I’m ugly. What can we do?

Nothing, Moonbeam. We can’t do a thing. We could attack the cleaners when they make their rare visits, steal their keys, break out of here and run. But there’s the fence enclosing this collection of cages that is high and not easily climbed. They’d catch us and put us back. Then we’d be treated worse than before because we defied them. As though we’re supposed to be thankful for what they give us. They’d feed us less, clean the cages less, or worse ‑ they’d simply eliminate us.

But we’re an attraction.

No we’re not. You know we’re back as far as possible because we’re not rare. I think every big place like this has a couple cages filled with non‑exotic animals like us.

We’re not an attraction?

No, Moonbeam. They want to think we are, though.

So what’ll we do?

Nothing.

We can’t go on talking forever.

We can be silent forever.

I don’t want to be silent, Phil.

They can make us.

No they can’t.

They can if they want to.

Why would they want to?

To be sure we do what they want us to do.

How can we harm them? We’re only two.

Like I said before, every place like this has cages and some have more cages than we think possible.

Then if we all get together we can change things.

How’re we gonna do that, Moon?

Revolution!

Revolution?

Sure?

No, Moon. Just no.

Well…maybe it can work.

When you come up with a good idea let me know because I’m going to get a little sleep before the place opens. Today I don’t care to be so damned sleepy like I usually am when they come around to see me.

I’m gonna sleep right through the day and ignore everyone. I’ll wake you tonight, and we’ll plot an escape.

Pointless. We might as well deal with what we have and not rock the boat, Moonbeam.

I hate that cliche, Phil. Why shouldn’t we try?

Because we’ll lose.

What do we have to lose?

Hmmmm.

We have nothing to lose.

We have everything to gain, is that it, Moon?

Revolution!

Revolution.

See ya tonight, Phil.

I’ll see ya later, Moonbeam. You won’t sleep through the viewing hours.

No, Phil. I probably won’t. But I can dream.

Not really, Moon.

They have those too, don’t they.

Go to sleep, Moon.

Good night, Phil.