At the Zoo

The Zoo is a progressive yet controversial prison set in the near American future. Follow a group of tourists as they view the future of American justice.

At The Zoo

“The monkeys stand for honesty,

Giraffes are insincere,

And the elephants are kindly but

They’re dumb.

Orangutans are skeptical

Of changes in their cages,

And the zookeeper is very fond of rum.

Zebras are reactionaries,

Antelopes are missionaries,

Pigeons plot in secrecy,

And hamsters turn on frequently. 

What a gas!

You gotta come and see

At The Zoo..."

-“At The Zoo”, Simon and Garfunkel

The foreboding structure sat atop the approaching horizon, the lone blemish on an otherwise empty edge of the massive desert. Only a handful of them noticed it at first, but as more people began pointing it out amongst themselves, the inevitable group consciousness quickly became aware of its presence. Despite the early morning rise, stale urine odor and cramped seating accommodations, the hushed conversations all carried the same tone of eager excitement. They were going to visit The Zoo.

Once they departed the bus, they mulled around in the relative cool provided by a colorless awning. There were eight of them split up into their respective groups. They had been herded to the imposing iron doors that connected the structure to the severe environment outside. Conversations were carried on half-heartedly as the guests continued to gawk at their surroundings and shield themselves against the hot wind blowing through the chain-linked fence that surrounded them.

"What a sight. And here you thought we had to travel all the way to Washington DC," He spat the last two letters as if they were curses of the four letter variety. “...in order to see a national landmark. This here’s just like visiting the Washington Monument.”

The gangly man in the classic cowboy hat and polished leather boots spoke authoritatively to the short, shy blond standing next to him. “Well, no, let me correct myself. It’s like visiting the Grand Canyon.” He indicated the desert around them and let out a guffaw.

“You’re right Jake, just like always.” The cowboy’s companion pointed to a nearby plaque proclaiming the structure the Roy Halee Progressive Prison for the Voluntarily Incarcerated. The once- shiny bronze of the plaque was now dull and scratched from the harsh desert wind. “This is a national site, after all.” 

The daunting set of entry-way doors suddenly heaved open as two muscular attendants in collared shirts pushed them aside with apparent effort. One of the women in the group, careful to not let her doting husband nearby see, let her eyes linger on the tan skin of the attendants as she passed by. Out of the doorway stepped a man of striking appearance that stood in stark contrast to his destitute and battered surroundings.

“Good morning, one and all! I am Mr. Cumberland Aknow, your official tour guide, your maître d’, your educator, and most sincerely so, your friend. Today, I will be showing you around one of the greatest physical embodiments of social progressivism the world has ever seen. Inside, you will see crime captured, perversion pinned, lunacy locked and injustice interred! We here at the Roy Halee Progressive Prison for the Voluntarily Incarcerated have introduced a new facet into the criminal justice system and we are proud to show it to good people just like yourselves. If you’ll follow me inside, we’ll begin your tour of what people have come to know as...The Zoo.”

The visitors obediently followed their enthusiastic escort’s instructions and began ambling toward the entrance in a distinctly herd-like fashion. A non-descript woman in her early twenties wiped the sweat off her forehead as she hurriedly passed through the entryway and into the air conditioning. “Not sure whether I’m more excited to finally be here or to finally be inside out of this heat.” Nobody responded.

Everything about the exterior of the building had seemed worn down, as if it was a fortress on the edges of a new frontier. And in a way, she supposed, it was. Inside seemed to be a different story. The walls had integrated displays and cool steel accented a room that trumpeted efficiency and security. In all of its features, however, it still came across as seeming non-descript. She took a moment to look around and appraise the people she’d be sharing the experience with. Without knowing their proper names, she decided to assign them internal nicknames instead.

The first couple she spotted consisted of the boisterous cowboy-type and his pretty but reserved girlfriend. From their interactions on the bus, she had already formed an opinion of both of them. The Cowboy was big and rambunctious, but overall, seemed to be gentle, if a little low on brains. He had the “good ol’ boy” personality about him that endeared him to some and grated on others.

His girlfriend had often placated him whenever he’d see fit to pronounce something patently ridiculous on the bus and seemed to be an exact complement to his extroverted personality. The Placater, however, seemed to mostly be working to shut him up. She didn’t come across as embarrassed but more likely...tired. She seemed to be feigning excitement for the trip for his benefit and his benefit alone.

Before she could move on to the next couple, Mr. Aknow announced, “Before we enter into the cell blocks, I’d like to take a moment and briefly explain what it is we do here at The Zoo. Is anyone in the room under 18? Federal guidelines require that we ask.”

They each looked around, even though they knew everyone in their group was of sufficient age. It was one of those motions that people go through. Satisfied, Mr. Aknow continued.

“We are a prison unlike any other. You’ll notice we have no guards, only attendants. No guards are required. This is due to our unique computerized system RIP: the Reality Imitation Program.” Mr. Aknow looked around, probing for the impression his delivery had made on his audience. Satisfied at their sufficient awe, he pulled up a panel on a nearby screen and proceeded.

“As a society, we learned long ago that perversions and deviant behavior cannot simply by stamped out. They will always exist. Rather than diverting our energies to its extinction, we have instead contained it. RIP is designed to give each guest at the facility exactly what it is they’re in here for. Stalkers are constantly on the prowl. Murderers relive their grisly crimes. Even sexual crimes are allowed to be reproduced, all within the confines of a virtual and secure world.” Brief scenes from simulated realities flashed on the screen. They were descript enough to give content but brief enough to maintain decency.

The husband of the leering woman raised his hand impatiently as Mr. Aknow looked ready to move on. The Leerer rolled her eyes at her husband but didn’t say anything as her spouse tried to get their host’s attention.

“Mr. Aknow, I have a hard time believing this is actually doing anyone any good. Other than the so-called ‘guests’, of course. They get to live out every dark fantasy they want on the taxpayer’s dime? Aren’t you just accommodating the deviants?” The Disbeliever looked smug in his reasoning and awaited an answer.

Their guide, implacable as a rule, gave an almost-genuine smile during his reply. “The gentleman brings about an excellent point, though it would have been addressed had I been given the time. Every guest here, in order to gain entry, has signed over their life to this facility. Now, these are habitual offenders, those who are destined to run afoul the law over and over again. Through plea deals and bargaining, these individuals have escaped the death penalty in most cases.”

“We have had a few applicants who are not in prison for life, but the screening process is rigorous and there is a waiting list.” A dark kind of smile now passed over his face. “For some prisoners, the waiting list turns out to be just a little too long.” He turned to continue on into the next room but The Disbeliever called out again.

“Well the ones who do make it here, aren’t we just coddling them? Staving off execution and giving them what they want? Hell, if you’re passing out a deal like that, sign me up.” The group around him chuckled nervously. A few scowled at him, including one particularly irate young woman and another well-dressed man that hadn’t made any kind of impression on anyone since they boarded the bus. She couldn’t help but note the expensive-looking green silk shirt he wore beneath his jacket, almost as if he wore a colorful plumage amongst so many ordinary pigeons. He certainly walked as if he believed so too.

Mr. Aknow’s smile, rather than crumbling, seemed to have become leaner and more sinister. “We are, of course, prohibited by law from exposing this technology to anyone in the general populace, despite its undoubtedly high market value. But what you don’t know, and what isn’t very widely publicized, is the incredibly high amount of turnover we have in our prison population. Prisoners live much, much shorter lives here than anywhere else. This saves taxpayers the expense of maintaining prisoners on death row and is even helping to ease the overpopulation our prison system is experiencing. Just the other day, I met-"

The group never found out. At that moment, the seething young woman from the middle of the group pulled from beneath her clothes two eggs of red paint and proceeded to throw one in Mr. Aknow’s direction. “RIP is murder! Felons are humans too! Criminals deserve-"

The Cowboy reacted quicker than anyone else in the room. Before the Activist could throw her other jar of paint, he had tackled her to the floor and wrestled the other egg away. Attendants rushed in and quickly secured the irate Activist who still screamed out slogans against the system, the facility, and occasionally Mr. Aknow himself.

As they dragged her away, the rest of the tourists applauded for The Cowboy’s actions. While seemingly embarrassed by the attention, he seemed to revel in the praise and his girlfriend’s annoyed look in the background all but confirmed it.

“I trust nobody’s hurt?” Mr. Aknow looked around with calculating eyes, visions of lawsuits most likely intermingled with any real concern he might have. “It’s a good thing her aim is about as sound as her philosophy. Only received some paint spatter on my hands. We do have some protesters come in from time to time and I apologize for the distraction. Some people just don’t want to move on from the current system. We here at Halee Prison seek to blaze a trail that untraveled. Shall we? We really are running a bit late now.”

Overwhelmed by the recent events, nobody spoke up, though it was doubtful Mr. Aknow would have chosen to notice them regardless. They passed through a secure door with a sign above it that read “Zealotry” and underneath it in smaller letters, “Antelope Block”. The non-descript woman fell in line next to a tall man dressed mostly in black and who, to her surprise, wore a white collar of the clergy.

“I’m surprised to find you in a place this, Father. Doesn’t really seem like your prevue. Especially since the prisoners here forfeit their right to any spiritual advisors for the duration.”

The Priest’s face was wrinkled and worn, but not unkind. He replied, “It’s exactly for that reason I am here, my child. I wish to know more about this facility that the Church has so quietly condoned. No prison is ever pleasant, but the implications of what go on here are...troubling, to say the least. I had to see for myself.”

The woman nodded respectfully, but before they could continue their conversation, Mr. Aknow had begun speaking.

“We call this the Antelope Block. It’s here that we keep those that we consider extremists or zealots, whether religious, political or otherwise. To them, life is all about the struggle to achieve their vision of what the world should look like. Here on your right, you’ll see the self-proclaimed High Minister of Mars His Sovereign Lord Tree-Dweller. I assure you, I got that right. You might remember him from a few years ago when he attempted to organize a violent uprising in the Oregon wilderness. As you may have guessed, it did not go as he planned. Let’s pull up the screen here...”

Mr. Aknow walked to the cell door and activated a wall panel. A live shot of what the RIP software was transmitting into the prisoner’s mind was now displayed for the small group of people who crowded around. On the screen they saw a first-person view of what appeared to be an enormous rally. Lord Tree-Dweller appeared to be jumping and prancing around on stage, tribal theming and large bonfires flanking him on both sides. “No matter how they oppress us, we will fight to our deaths!” Lord Tree-Dwellers cries were replied to by thousands, though their cheers came only through the screen and presumably into the prisoner’s mind.

Their guide chuckled to himself as he watched the proceedings. “This one always amuses me. He never actually wins. He’s only happy if he’s fighting to win. Our remote medical exams have actually shown that he’s exhausting himself to death in there, with all the hoopla and pageantry. Thankfully, the Supreme Court’s ruling a few years ago that these actions are his decision and not the responsibility of the facility have preserved the way we do things. All of this thanks to the swing vote in the case, Justice Rummel, who is by far and away my favorite Supreme Court judge for this very reason.”

“The fact that the President personally ensured he was appointed to the court months before the ruling didn’t hurt.” The Disbeliever spoke with scorn in his voice, but had kept his voice at a volume that avoided detection by Mr. Aknow. “Call me a cynic, but there’s a lot of money in prisons. Believe me, I was an assistant prison warden up in Arizona before retirement. I would know.”

“I’d love to spend more time here in Antelope, but the earlier unexpected demonstration"” At this, he smiled and waited for everyone to chuckle. “...has created a delay in our schedule and so we must be moving on. Come along please.”

The group walked timidly through the block, slightly unnerved by the random outbursts of noise from the nearby cells. The non-descript girl noted the relatively comfortable setup each cell had but, in the same glance, realized that much of it looked untouched. The chairs were pushed in to their desks. Nothing was out of place. The beds hardly looked slept in. The inmates just stood in the center of their room, the RIP equipment fitted to their heads. A treadmill-like pad allowed them to simulate walking and running seamlessly. It is morning, after all. It made sense that they’d all be up and active. Still, something gnawed on her.

Realizing she’d almost been left behind, she turned away from the cell and hurried to catch up, nearly bumping into the Well-Dressed Man from earlier. “Sorry about that. Just clumsy, I guess.” She smiled up at him, but felt it freeze on her face when his features remained unmoved. He broke eye contact with her and moved on without a word.

The next block they entered was called the Hamster Block (“Sexual Deviance”) and appeared identical to the previous block. An obvious tension filled the room as the tourists hesitantly entered, fearing what they might stumble upon.

Mr. Aknow’s demeanor didn’t shift at all as he assured them, “You’re completely safe here, both physically and visually. It’s one of the many advantages we have over the traditional prison system. There are no sexual attacks here. There is no sexual misconduct. Each inmate gets as much as they want through RIP, without limit.”

He looked around, seemingly at nothing, then leaned in and said conspiratorially, “We once had a prisoner stay awake for nearly 40 hours without any kind of break from the system. It was great fun for the staff. I won $40 that day, though don’t tell anyone I work for.” He winked at them with a sly grin.

The Priest spoke up for the first time. “What became of the man?” His stern face showed what he already suspected.

The guide replied evenly, “Unfortunately, the man succumbed to the exhaustion that came along with his decision to stay in the simulator for so long. Again, we are lawfully protected from liability in this case as it has been ruled to have been his decision. Obviously, we never wish for any of our guests to die before their time, but the cold hard truth is...”

His audience waited in anticipation for his response. Most could tell he was reveling in it. “...it is their choice. Plus, it does help keep the turnover rate at about what we want it to be. One of the benefits of the system, I suppose.”

The Priest looked disgusted but did not press the issue any further. Mr. Aknow either did not care or chose not to show it.

As the group moved to proceed to the next cell block, the non-descript woman made a concerted effort to understand what one prisoner was saying to the attendants who were in his cell with him. He seemed to be struggling against them, making his way for the door, but the attendants were too many and too strong. He seemed to be shouting, “No more!” over and over again. “No more!” The headgear was being forcibly placed on his head as she turned the corner out of the block.

Unnerved and feeling the need to flee from...whatever that was, the non-descript woman hurried once again to catch up with her group. However, before she could make her way through the swinging double doors into the next block (“Violent Offenders: Zebra Block”), she was pushed back by the rapidly retreating group she had been rushing to rejoin.

“...could have sworn that was a body we...” 

 “...man, they couldn’t get us out there fast enough...” 

“...the other criminals might have attacked...” 

 “...execute their own prisoners?”

Mr. Aknow struggled to bring the group back to order as he shepherded the last few visitors into the block’s entry room. The non-descript woman noted that his carefully constructed façade had slipped and was only now being put back into place as he turned once against to speak to them.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize profusely for that spectacle. As I mentioned before, our schedule was thrown off earlier and nobody was supposed...that is, it’s unfortunate that...” Mr. Aknow looked deeply consternated and chose to restart rather than finish his sentiment.

“Let me just say that we do not execute our prisoners here. I heard that in the commotion and I can’t have anyone spreading those rumors. That man died of natural causes brought about by his own choices. We are protected under the ruling of the Supreme Court.”

“That man was being dragged out of his cell like some rotten piece of cattle carcass!” The Disbeliever shouted out what the rest of the present group had apparently been thinking, as several other voices joined in their protest. “What are you doing to these men? Why do they look like they’ve been starved to death? Who is accountable here?”

Under siege and with no way forward, Mr. Aknow appeared to decide on his next best course of action. “I’m afraid this unfortunate event must lead to a conclusion of our tour today. You will all receive a partial refund, I’m sure. Please turn around and follow the path we took prior to our arrival here, if you will."

There was a moment of rebellious hesitation before the first few members of the group turned away and began walking. The remaining vocal members were quickly persuaded by the arrival of several large attendants in polo shirts who drove them backwards. The group became sullen and quiet as they trekked back through the previous blocks and a rift soon formed between a majority of the group and three stragglers: the non-descript woman, Mr. Aknow and the Well-Dressed Man.

Careful to look straight ahead and feign deafness, the non-descript woman strained to listen to the quiet conversation Mr. Aknow and the Well-Dressed Man were having. Mr. Aknow’s projecting voice was just loud enough to hear while the other man’s part of the conversation remained hidden from her.

“Yes, yes, I was told to be expecting your arrival at some point this week...yes, it’s all very fascinating, I agree...now how would you describe the particular activity you’re interested in pursuing...oh, my...well yes, that won’t be a problem, though that is one of the more colorful descriptions I’ve heard...it is, of course, illegal, but a man of your means can afford to risk the law, obviously...we can set up your installation appointment once we return to my office in the front building, at the price I’m sure you’ve already heard...always a pleasure doing business with an esteemed gentleman like yourself.”

The non-descript woman could fee Mr. Aknow’s attention focusing on her with suspicion. She increased her pace to create a larger buffer between herself and the two men behind her. All she wanted at this point was to leave The Zoo and the sights she had seen behind her. She had come here to write a story, to get out the truth, to catch her big break. She didn’t think on any of that now. Seeing this place and the system that governed it had cowed her journalistic instincts.

The last thing she heard as she exited the final block before the lobby was Mr. Aknow telling the Well-Dressed Man, “Now don’t forget, sir, the answer to the question that unfortunate fellow from the tour group asked of me. ‘What are we doing to this man?’” Without even looking, she knew his smile had taken on the evil and sinister tinge she had seen before. “The answer I could not say in public was simple: What we’re doing is giving them everything they ever wanted.”

Author's Note

Story is themed to the S&G song "At the Zoo" with an allusion guide at the end.

General feedback and suggestions are welcome.

Reviews

[Persona]

The thing about using the lyrics at the start is that you might be copying their work illegally? I like the idea you went for but you're bogging down your story with a lot of explanation. Some of it is contrived, like when the man raises his hand to question why they'd waste money recreating crimes. You keep mentioning the 'non-descript' woman yet she seems prominent in the story. If you have to list the number of characters in the story, then you have too many. There are no people to care for or support so the reader is lost in a concept without a character to lead the story. Start with Mr. Aknow because everything before that comes across as pointless and doesn't contribute to the story. You might lose readers on those first few paragraphs.

I laughed at this line. 'A non-descript woman in her early twenties wiped the sweat off her forehead as she hurriedly passed through the entryway and into the air conditioning.' I pictured her literally walking into the air conditioning unit. Maybe you could leave that out altogether? What has the temperature got to do with the crimes?

[Throok Mercer]

I'm not really planning on ever publishing it or anything, so I'm not worried about copyright infringement. I attributed it to them, so I figure that's safe.

I guess the part at the end (that I've since deleted, as it felt a little heavy-handed) was to try and explain what I was doing. The song itself is woven into the story line. Each of the characters represents one of the animals in the lyrics, which in turn has a particular attribute.

The non-descript woman is supposed to be kind of an objective observer, relaying information to the reader, rather than becoming the protagonist of the story.

The crux of the story is in the plot and the story and the morality of the hypothetical system. I want that to be the investment; not the characters. The first few paragraphs aren't very smooth though. The reason being that I started the story months ago, wrote two paragraphs, and dropped it for awhile. The I picked it back up. Could definitely use some smoothing over.

As far as the AC, maybe that's just regional dialect or something. When I hear someone say they're going back inside into the air conditioning, I know they're talking about the air, not the actual unit. It was mostly just setting the contrast between the harshness outside and the controlled environment inside.

Thank you for your review!