Cry to the Aristocrat by Amy Deng

My brother: No one thinks more highly than we do of the freedom, as well as the companionship that we wish to share with you. But you, my brother, have changed so much from what you used to be; I am not sure of whether you can accept the words that I will present you. You probably do not have any memory of the fact that you were once the same as I, and the same as my pack, my family, the wolves. You probably do not recall the days you were once running along side with me, hunting freely, devouring the juicy flesh of a freshly killed rabbit, howling along side with me, searching for the place of our dreams; roaming the lands openly, destined with ambition to find the entrance to paradise.

But you, my brother, did not want to pursue this dream with us any longer; you did not want to run with us, hunt with us, eat with us, nor did you want to search for paradise with us. Instead, you abandoned us; you left us behind and walked off into a road of your own. As the years passed, your luscious fur has began to fall out little by little, your teeth have began to dull; even your keen eyesight has worsened and your ears shrunk and started to grow to the side of your head; without noticing you lost your tail and began to walk on two legs; you have produced more of your kind, so much more that it has overpopulated us. It is by this time, that we were certain that you have forgotten your past; you have forgotten about us, our bond, and our fate.

How do we know? We know by experience, the ways that you have deceived us, betrayed us, and slain us. What you are talking about, you ask. Remember that day, it snowed. It was cold and we were hungry; our noses frostbitten, our paws on the verge of being completely numb. We saw you out in the snow, crouching behind a rock, with a strange instrument in your hands; you were completely still. We watched you from the tree and moments later, there was a loud blast and the deer in front of our eyes fell to the ground. My dear son asked me if he may approach you and ask for a tender slab of deer meat. I answered no because I was not sure that you remember us, but my son ran ahead, out of our hiding place behind the tree, and toward you, my brother. Now is it wrong for my young son to approach you; out of hunger, and out of need, for a slab of meat for us all to feast on? According to you, brother, we were mistaken; for you glared at my dear son and with a shocked look on your face you lifted that strange instrument of yours and killed my son in an instant. You then carried his helpless body and threw him behind your back; his mouth dripping with blood, his eyes distressed and filled with grief. My brother, we watched you unfalteringly skinning my son, ripping his flesh apart; pieces by pieces, his blood pouring all over the white snow. My brother, it was the most repulsive and horrifying sight I had ever laid my eyes on; because it was done by you, my dear brother, it made this sight an infinite times more atrocious than it was. You then wore my son’s skin over your body; you lacked the fur you once had to keep yourself warm; thus you slay us to recuperate this loss.

Today, we are imprisoned in our small forest; scared to leave; unable to pursue our dreams of paradise and eternal bliss. We wish everyday, as the moon reveals herself in the pitch, black sky, for the harmony we once shared, the pleasure we once exhibited, with our cries to you; but you only glare at us fiercely with your defiant stare; you strike at us with your instruments and blades of aggression. We do not want your hatred, my brother, we just want your understanding; give us paradise, or give us your extinction.