Tucked away in the darkest corner of my memory is a secret I have yet to confide to anyone or have the intention to do so. It is not something I would brag to others nor reproach myself; not something I think is morally right or wrong; not something I am sure of committing it again; but something that reveals a certain side of me: a side that defies rational explanation of all sorts, a side that is better left unexplained and be forgotten.

Springing up and down, swinging to and fro, his energy was inexhaustible. I adored him as if he was my baby brother. Whenever he saw me, his eye beamed with gaiety, his palms eagerly reached out to me. And I took every opportunity I could to feed him, bath him and play with him, to such a proportion that it became the jest of classmates about my effeminacy. I was, of course, oblivious to them. My world then consisted of him and him only. I was unsure of where he came from except the fact that my father brought him back as a birthday gift for me. He was adorable with his brown crisp fur and piercing eye; he did not talk much, other than making squeaking and shirking sound. Despite his long swinging tail, he was a rather small monkey.

Then, out of nowhere, a thought intruded my mind. It was impossible to say how it came about, but once conceived it stalked me persistently like a malevolent hound. I tried to chase it out of my mind but only to find it back with greater fiendish. The thought continued to taunt, torment, and tempt me to see its actualisation. I began to find a change in me or…was it a change in him. No longer was he adorable but abominable. I found him keep staring at me with those eyes -- those demonic eyes of his, so hideous, so loathsome that I had to cover the cage with cloth to avoid his gaze. No longer I fed him, bathed him nor caressed him. I avoided him altogether. But the thought kept on goading me, enticing me to…

I took the cloth off the cage. He, weak, thin and without food for days, looked at me feebly. Taking no notice, I filled up an empty spray-gun bottle with water and mixed with concentrated sugar water. I wasn't sure of what had taken possession of my mind and body; willy-nilly, I proceeded as if under a diabolic force beyond my control. I took aim at the cage; I squeezed the trigger and out poured a smoke-like mist enveloping the cage. He winced back in fear. I pulled again and again, at his body, his head, his back until, before I knew it, the bottle was empty. Drenched, his fur turned dark brown and he was licking his palms. I lifted up the cage.

It was not far from my house, not exactly a forest, a favourite haunt of mine. And I knew every inch of place and every creature dwelling there. I reached the spot. The ground was filled with short and sharp grasses. There stood in the middle a small tree that offered miserable shade. I put down the cage on the grass patch. I stepped back; I squatted down. Like a child visiting the cinema for the first time, I looked on with eagerness and anticipation.

Out of nowhere, rows of them, almost invisible at first, were forming. Darkish-red lines, many of them, directed toward the cage. Slightly bigger than those found in my house, these fire ants, I called them because of their colour, marched on. They bit me once and I knew them well. He started to cling to the top of cage; the cage bottom was already darkish-red. Squeaking and shirking, he looked restless and agitated. Rows of them climbed up the bars of the cage. He, with his one arm and tail clinging precariously from the cage, brushed off violently those which had gotten onto his body. More and more occupied the cage. Suddenly, a violent squeak, he fell. The redness swarmed toward him with such speed and impetus I had yet before witness. His face, back, arms, legs, tail were, in no time, covered with them. That dark brown coat of his now turned darkish-red. He turned and tossed with such violent and hit himself with such force onto the metal bars that I thought he might break the cage. The cage trembled. My fist clenched, my heart palpitating.

The sun went down; the life went out. The show was over, the curtain drawn. I left the scene, satisfied.

Leo Kee Chye

Monday, August 4, 2003