The ugly monkey was still just a baby no bigger than a small watermelon and always in a strange place. Things never really seemed familiar. The bars that held it mentally in the crib as it sat on its pillow did not keep out that familiar uneasiness as other things climbed in.
They were small, half the size of barbies, give or take an inch or two. A girl and a boy... and a little horse. The ugly monkey baby pulled its twisted little legs closer, tucking under, trying to fold into a nonexistance in pulling away. These weird human-like creatures weren't threatening, it seemed, in asking if the little ugly monkey wanted to play. It seemed like a monstrously awkward moment as the ugly monkey either shook its head in the negative or choked out a feeble, "no." Or maybe it did both. Then the girl, boy and horse were gone and the monkey looked around the room at all the unfamiliar objects of a dresser, table, desk, and nothing hidden around or under them. The door was open and a muttering of conversation could be heard from rooms away.
"Mommy."
The conversation continued unbroken . Maybe it was the television or radio. Ahh, the radio, another contrivance of irritation that confused and disturbed the little animal. The radio was almost as big as the television, being a record player that opened with a lid on top.
Sometimes mother cuckoo would hold the little ugly monkey baby when turning on the radio by the knob and tuning the stations by the next knob. That red band behind the numbers moved and one radio station would blend into the next.. Voices traded spaces and then Elton John was suddenly singing about the yellow brick road and to follow it.
Mother cuckoo would sit the little ugly monkey baby on the floor and go into another room or go sit at the table, on the chair or couch and stare at the wall... if she wasn't busy on the phone.. And there was a tiny red light distracting from searching out the room for those weird creatures. That glowing red light in the front of that electrical furniture that was a radio.
It was alive with voices of those trapped within. This wooden cyclops was as a doorway to some sad, red glowing world that the ugly monkey cupped its paws around its eyes over the red light, to look into.
Face pressed close to shade out the daytime external light or shade out the nighttime light of lamps and ceiling fixtures. In the world of red, a bright night of nowhere and from everywhere exposed ribbons of twisted red tree limbs, bare of leaves and void of life, hiding those voices were the only sign that something hummed with a vibration of stolen life.
The little ugly monkey baby heard about the cat doing something in a cradle and a lonely little boy waiting for his dad. What's a dad? Who cares. There are sad little people stuck in this terrible box!
The ugly monkey strained one eye, then the other, looking into that glowing red, dead tree realm. "You can come out." Nothing happened. "Where are you?" The ugly monkey said into the speaker of which none from the other side would hear its tiny feeble voice.
There was no answer. Only the sad songs played on, few of which the monkey baby would remember with any clarity .
"Don't be sad."
Nobody answered. Where was that yellow brick road all in red? All they'd have to do is follow it, right?
(to be continued...)
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