I’M SICK of being propositioned by suitors. In an effort to get me hitched, Jo-Jo (my Monkey’s Paw) has been encouraging the many suitors to advance upon me. They would try to get to me at night if I hadn’t thought of fixing the walls and padlocking the doors of a local trader’s back shed in which I am currently residing in.
The most aggressive of them is a woman monkey I call “Scar-face”. She’s a bit suggestive.
I’m too scared to talk to her, and it’s not because I care what she thinks. Yesterday, Scar-face told me she had rabies, bit me on the neck, and offered out some sort of syringe which she said I needed to take as soon as possible if I didn’t want to die a most painful death.
“I’ll give it to you,” she tittered. “But you have to put a ring on it first.”
“I think we’re done here,” I said, climbing to the top of a tree and waiting for the first signs of madness. Or whatever symptoms humans get for rabies.
I’m not mad yet! And maybe I can fight the madness away by shrieking at the top of my lungs.