Sit with your back strapped to the wooden chair, and hide the tremors in your hands while you watch your mother carve up the carcass, blood-wedged fingernails prodding its macerated flesh on the table. Hold back your tears as your father tears the ivory tusks with a saw-toothed knife, his mouth gnawing on its meat. You gaze at your husband bringing in a pair of utensils and handing you a set. He flicks the table napkin and lays it on his lap before joining. You take a swig from the wine glass to mask the stench crawling inside your nostrils, but your trembling lips cause it to spill on your alabaster dress—the shade contrary to the blotches of crimson on your arms. Your mother stops to look at you, and your father next. Their gaze lands on your body before quickly offering you a bite. Your husband stops when he sees you balk, and his dominant hand squeezes your thigh. You open your lips, the flesh burning inside your mouth. Before they leave the kitchen, your mother hands you the hardbound book you’d seen countless times on the altar of your childhood home. You grip its edges when you see your father tap your husband’s shoulder. You can only stare at their back as their car dwindles from your sight. You can’t call the zoo. They’d already cut the wire.
Ada Pelonia (she/her) is a journalism graduate of the University of Santo Tomas. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in HAD, Eunoia Review, Gone Lawn, The Account, Stanchion, and Bending Genres, among others. She has been nominated for Best Microfiction 2021. Find her at adapelonia.weebly.com or on Instagram @_adawrites.