The lion had seen better days. He should have been the king of the jungle; instead here he was in a place no larger than a farm, famished, ribs showing, his fur dull and waning. In his face was the lingering signs of regality, but the eyes showed a deep sense of loneliness.
Ria looked at the logo stamped on her lunch box. The majestic winged lion. What irony!
This was merely a glorified prison for animals. A testament to man’s vicious need to establish dominion over other sentient beings. We call them wild, yet we are the predators. All the claims about breeding programs, just a guise to help the modern mind cope with a nineteenth century idea.
The zoo was a lively place. Everyone was enjoying except the animals.
In response to the 186th Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers challenge, based on a photo provided by Wildverbs.
This is a thought-provoking piece that had me agreeing but feeling guilty at the same time.
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I think we are all in the same boat.
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A story to make one think, and we do need to think.
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True, no one is good in captivity. It kills the soul. Only person happy is the prison guard.
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I used to love going to the zoo as a kid, but absolutely hate it now because of this very reason. What’s the joy in seeing prisoners on display?
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Guilty of the same. Apparently I demanded to be taken to the zoo every month. Now I can only see their ribs and unnatural lethargy. Total disregard to natural habitat.
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At last, we are beginning to see zoos as prisons. At least circuses don’t use animals any more.
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O yes. The circuses are a definite step forward.
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A sad tale, well told.
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Thank you
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