zoo - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Kevin had imagined the zoo would be something like the one in London he visited as a child. There would be large chimpanzees, tigers and snakes big enough to swallow a poodle - but it in the warming sunshine it felt more like a farm with the wrong animals. On the grassy field the giraffe looked just wrong, he wondered how she felt when the Canadian winter hit. Did they keep her in a barn? Put a coat on her? Did she mind? Likewise the lions slunk around, kings and queens of their field of tufting green. It was the perfect enclosure for a few sheep, except the fence was more comprehensive, more prison-like. Those years ago the brethren of these animals had filled him with irrepressible wonder, joy even, but here in a British Columbia July it was just depressing. These animals were paraded in the wrong habitat, the wrong climate, confined, so that these acres of otherwise difficult to farm land could turn someone a profit.
“Plus one child.” She pointed downward to the rain-soaked hood that bobbed up and down. He responded with a courteous nod and processed the transaction as efficiently as any cashier half his age. With a formal statement of greeting and withered lips casting a genuine smile, he handed them tickets. Sophie wanted to ask him if there was a cafe with wifi inside but Lacy had released her hand and run pell-mell into the zoo. Sophie followed, blinking against the rain, her waterproof mascara giving up the fight against the constant wetness and beginning to irritate her eyes. Her heart rate rose as she scanned for Lacy but she needn't have worried. The zoo was almost deserted and even through the blur of rain and irritated vision she could see the red and orange haze that was her cousin. Lacy was leaping up and down to better see a map through the droplet coated perspex. At seven she was an accomplished reader but she didn't have to be here; the maps were all pictures, symbols and arrows.
As noisy as a box full of budgies on a trampoline. A Cacophony of noise. A tumult of hoots, roars and screeches. Animals pacing up and down in their enclosures. Bored stares of animals unchallenged by their confined environments. Monkey's playing on old tires suspended from the top of the cage. Tigers attacking the rump of a cow thrown in at feeding time.
Mike had seen giraffes on wildlife shows, he'd seen them make their way over plains with their gangly running motion. But now that he was up close he couldn't get over how large her eyes were, like pools of chestnut gloss. When she stuck out her tongue to take in some leaves he couldn't help but smile. On the TV they had been elegant, enchanting, but here in real life she was simply bewitching. Her splotched fur lay perfect over the lean muscle below and if anything her legs were even longer than he'd been expecting. After a time he pulled out his camera and began to take pictures, none of them would do her justice, he knew that - but at least he could try.
Prison for animals; that's all a zoo would ever be to Eve. What was their crime? Habitat loss? Over-hunted? Being so pretty we all feel the need to stare at them? All the rubbish about breeding programs, it's just a band-aid to help the modern mind cope with a nineteenth century idea.
The zoo was a lively place with its large display of animals and birds of different species. Everyone was enjoying except the animals. The animals who were shoved into small cages with hardly any place to roam. The tiger with its blazing orange eyes reminded me of a fire. A fire that represented the passion of the tiger to hunt. But the eyes showed a deep sense of loneliness. It was not only the tiger but all the animals and birds were desperate to escape from this imprisonment. The sweet voice of the birds had turned into high shrieks conveying their melancholy. The fishes trapped behind the glasses made desperate attempts to break out by jostling their
Streamlined body against the glass. All this that my eye captured did not come to the notice of other tourists as they were too busy with their own lives.
The giraffe in the paddock leaned its long neck over toward its mother, resting its head against her silky fur and half closing its eyes in bliss. Terri was mesmerized by their shape, so elegant, beautiful. Their pattern was like a rich chestnut painted on golden cream and their heads were art. She watched them, ears like cuddly toys moving according to their mood. She couldn't quite get over their legs, so stretched looking but strong at the same time. Then as if right on cue the smaller giraffe looked her way, its eyes a rich brown. It reminded her of that time a beluga whale had eyed her at the aquarium. Then she knew why - it was the moment she realized that there was someone in there, someone sentient.