One Word
The sounds have clicks and ticks and various inflections that I just cannot recreate.
Ever since I arrived, the natives… let’s call them benefactors… have been incessantly hovering, though, odd enough, their attention is erratic.
My food, normally provided regularly, is sometimes forgotten. This means I have to sidle up to the bars of my cell, screaming and hollering until someone shows up with food.
The same is true for my clothing. With no way to wash my clothing, I have to rely on my benefactors to provide me clean outfits.
They gather around.
The enormity of their size dwarfs my own, and this is reinforced regularly when strangers arrive and my benefactors show me off as the newest addition to their menagerie.
When they are not around, I sometimes find myself trying to emulate the simpler sounds. One day, I vow to be able to make them understand…
A benefactor—one in particular—seems to dote on me. I have come to think of it as female.
She talks to me all the time, though I think she does so without expectations of a response.
I smile at her when I can, trying to impart my appreciation of the things she does.
“Mmooahhmaahh,” she tells me, and seems to half wait before turning away.
I struggle to form the strange, unwieldy words, and I know I do not do them justice. “Maamaa,” I tell her.
“Bill. Bill! Come quick, he just said ‘mama’ and I think he might be able to do it again!”