What We Fed to the Manticore

I thought about all of this as I wrote these stories. Each time, I considered whether the animal whose story I told had any sort of need to communicate with humans. And if they did, what did they want from that communication?

Above them both, the lines twisted and danced, unable to decide if the man, or the woman, or the building was meant to be home.

I went to her first. I thought that if I brought her to the afterlife now, her calf could find her waiting. If that was a comfort of some kind I would give it.

Hafiz will close the zoo soon. There is nobody left who needs a zebra. It’s just us now. Me, and Hafiz, and the holes in the ground.

It is with the lions that I learn to not be afraid of the children. I like the idea of them, but the first time that I see them in person, they dart up to the fence in swarms. Their hands reach out to me. Their eyes are wet. Their voices call out. Alhimar alwahshiu! Alhimar alwahshiu! I am afraid to let them touch me. On the first day, it feels lik

I’m not sure how to explain how it feels to us to live in this city. The way that it seems as if a hand reached down and gripped all of us, squeezing until we couldn’t move.