The monkey and the microphone

The line between our modern world of wifi, TV and paved roads and the natural world are blurred... Sometimes, these worlds intersect; they sit down and talk.

More often than not, the lines that separate our modern world of wifi, TV and paved roads and the natural world are blurred. Our parks sprout in the middle of neighbourhoods like an oasis in the desert. Zoos capture the wildest of animals in the most unwild enclosures. And at night, we push the stars out of view to illuminate our route home. Sometimes, these worlds intersect; they sit down with a coffee and discuss how and why they've ended up so far apart. If you could talk to a monkey, what would you ask it?

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There was once a monkey and a microphone; one night, they spoke to each other and learned they couldn't understand one another.

The monkey did as monkeys do; he swung from the branches of the trees hunting for something good to eat; in the afternoons, he sat behind his mate, combing his hair for lice and love. But once the evening came, he grew curious about the yellow lights shining between the holes in the jungle. At first, he only swung one tree closer, then two, then three; before he knew it, a hundred trees had passed by, and he saw the lights emanating at the end of a shiny tree, like a dying sun. There were lines of the metal trees, but with no branches inching them within touching distance. He couldn't swing any further. He stood under the sad sun, wondering where the green had gone when he noticed another one of his kind. At a closer look, this monkey appeared small and fragile, like a baby but smelt of decay. He felt afraid then. What happened to this estranged cousin who lives among metal trees and dying suns? He doubted if this monkey could swing from branches as he could. But as he looked on feeling bad, he noticed how this cousin was walking on the grey floor, so he copied its strange style and walked upright down the hard, squared soil.

The monkey didn’t have to walk far before he came across the microphone; not that he knew it was a microphone when he saw her. She was resting on a thin piece of a shinny tree behind a see-through leaf made of water. He tapped the leaf, curious; it shattered and fell on her.

“That was quite unnecessary,” she said.

“Sorry, leaves don’t usually break like that.”

“But that's not a leaf; where are you from that you don’t know a leaf from a pane of glass?"

“I’m from the jungle. What is gla-ss?”

“It’s what you just broke, that’s what!”

“Sorry, again, about the gla-ss,” he said, embarrassed and afraid. Then he turned to leave. Maybe the yellow lights and new sounds weren’t for him.

“Hold up a second…" said the microphone, sounding less angry. "I’ve never met one of you before, and I’ve never been to the jungle either. So don’t blame me for reacting. But since you have come all this way... why don’t you tell me what it’s like.”

The monkey paused and looked at the birds dancing around the canopy, ready to settle down for the night. That's where I belong, he thought. “What’s, what like?” He said.

“The jungle, of course.”

“It has many trees and waterfalls, rivers and the sweetest fruit you can imagine. Then there are the insects hiding in trees, buzzing in the air or crawling on leaves. And don't forget the tigers; they are as pretty as they are deadly. And the snakes, so big they could swallow me whole! But there is no glass or whatever you are?”

“I’m a Microphone, of course! You really do know nothing of my world.”

“Tell me microphone: if your world was mine, what would you be? Would you be me, swinging through the trees, grooming my friends and raising young, or perhaps you would be a river? Feeding life deep into the heart of darkness?”

“What a good question! At least for a monkey. I wonder...I could see myself in a few roles. Perhaps, as you say, I am yourself or a river; maybe a tree or the rain. Our world is so much more complicated than yours though. We are not set in our roles as you are. Here monkeys can be tigers and snakes, rivers can bring darkness into the heart of life and people groom themselves."

"That doesn't sound like a fun place to be," said the monkey.

"Oh you are a silly monkey; life isn't about fun."

"Perhaps not here. So tell me microphone, in your strange jungle, where one thing becomes the other, what are you?"

"I can be many things, but there is one thing I am more often than others."

"What's that?"

“A tiger.”

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So, what would you ask the monkey? Leave a comment!