I was looking at some old short stories that I had written and I found this very very short one. I really like it so I thought I would share.
The monkey in the cage said, “Hello.”
I pretended not to hear anything. It wasn’t my monkey, and I certainly didn’t want it on my back. For years I had been providing a taxi service for other people’s monkeys, taking on their problems and trying to solve them.
I’m not insensitive to its plight, its bad habits, and addictions. I almost reached into my pocket to hand it a comb. The monkey’s hair was matted, but I knew that soon I would be combing, picking lice, and grooming the monkey rather than letting it take care of itself. Monkeys don’t need combs, they need to be free. The cage was open, all the monkey had to do was step out and join his fellow monkeys. No, I wouldn’t be helping him. He could get his own bananas.
The monkey in the cage said, “Hello.” I walked away.