The Animal Kingdom

A dystopia, driven by animalistic urges.

The Animal Kingdom

The city of broken hands and jagged teeth was slowly drowning in the gritty rainwater. It trickled and dripped down the hard windows, soaking into the dismal concrete. Despite this, all was not grey in this city. Yellow smog clung to the structures like sickly cotton wool, burning the eyes of anyone that was exposed to it. Harsh neon lights flashed and dazzled in the rain, making dirty rainbows scutter through the thick air. The city belched, grumbled and hissed sooty spirals into the toxic horizon, the smut clawing its way up to the obsidian sky. The sun had not been seen in over 50 years, choked by the waves of effluence emanating from the heart of the city. The people of this city huddled within their cracked Quarters, happy to be boxed into their species. The privileged walked with happy grimaces and silken blindfolds while the wretched scuttled beneath their feet, whispering behind clawed hands and bartering with all they had.

***

The Magpie peered around the block, eyes focused on his target. “Righ’ ” he said, the murky rain forming dirty tears on his gaunt cheek, “You all know wha’ you gotta do, righ’, coz ah ain’t repeatin’ it.”

The other Magpies nodded furiously, a series of stick puppets on strings. “Good,” The Magpie said, grinning his brilliantly white straight smile.

He strode forwards, head held high, as if he was king of the world, “A’right luv?”

The fat Butterfly jumped, dropping the synthetic roses from her silky palms, “Ah uh, stay back Magpie!” She fixed her limpid eyes on Magpie, as she bent to pick up the roses from the sooty water.

The Magpie grinned his ‘bird-magnet’ smile and spread his arms wide, “Don’ worry, luv! Ah mean no ‘arm! Ah was jus’ wonderin’ wha’ an attractive Butterfly like yourself is doin’ in these parts. Ain’t safe ‘ere for someone like you.”

“Ah, I kn-know,” she stuttered, her watery eyes darting fearfully around, “I was ju-just passing through.”

“Really?” The Magpie said, drawing out the word nice and long, hiding the scampers from behind, “Butterflies like ye are always lost in these parts. Don’ worry, ye can trust me luv.”

Her eyes wheeled around before focusing back on him, “I am fine.” She said the three little words as if she was having a hard time convincing herself that she was  ‘fine’.

“Ye can trust me luv,” The Magpie repeated and he held out his hand, palm up, murky rainwater pooling on his skin, “Ah’ll show ye home.”

The Butterfly’s eyes widened, her bubble-gum pink hair sticking to her forehead. Her poison green eye makeup was streaming down her skin, forming toxic tears on her cheeks, “I suppose I do need a little help. But don’t touch me Magpie! You might have the Virus.”

“Wouldn’t dream o’ it luv. An’ anyway, Ah’ve been tested,” he said, brandishing his right hand, which had a big black circle stamped on his skin. The Butterfly looked relieved but what she didn’t know was that the big black circle was fake; drawn on in careful permanent marker. The Magpie forced his eyes not to glance at the other Magpies behind her, whose grubby fingers were pulling out her Ration card and her Lux card from her belt.

“Follow me luv, keep close. ‘Oo knows what kind o’ low life would wan’ te ge’ a hold o’ you.”

And like a lost Lamb she followed him, through the square streets and block buildings. He made sure to take her deep within the Sump Quarter. He wondered if she would notice. Butterflies spent most of their time in the Garden Quarter, tittering and tottering over the genetically perfect flowers and people that surround their world. It was a rare opportunity to see one of them in the Sump Quarter, and one that The Magpie was not willing to give up. Their Ration Cards would keep an entire nest of Magpies fed for a month.

“Uh…are you sure this is the right way?” The Butterfly blinked those large childlike eyes, her fat, fat fingers wrapped around the roses as if they were the only link to safety, “If you’re trying to trick me, my father is a Lion. He’ll have your head as a trophy.”

“That ain’t very nice of you,” The Magpie said in a singsong voice, “Ah’m tryin’ to ‘elp you. O’ course ah’m takin’ you down the righ’ way.”

The Butterfly had no choice but to follow, tiptoeing daintily around putrid water and rotting waste, her perfect face almost cracking with disgust. The Magpie stomped through the puddles, the grimy water splashing ineffectively against his robust boots, his face set with a grim glee he did not dare show to the Butterfly.

“ ‘Ere we are!” The Magpie cried triumphantly, stopping by a dank door that was firmly bolted. He grinned towards the Butterfly, who looked close to tears, saying, “This ‘ere is a tunnel that will ge’ ye back to th’ Garden Quar’er, real simple. You jus’ wai’ a minute, I need te give a secret password, tha’ only a Magpie knows. See? Wha’ would ye have done withou’ me?”

Not bothering to wait for a reply, the Magpie turned to the door again. He rapped his knuckles on the dull metal three times. A shutter pulled back and a large yellow eye glared from out of the smoky darkness. “What?” The word was hurled out from the shutter.

“I got summa’ for ya,” The Magpie said, jerking his thumb backwards and stepping back to reveal the dripping, bedraggled Butterfly.

The yellow eye inspected her, interest sparking within its depths, “Right…bring her in.”

The Magpie chuckled, waggling a finger, “Pur-lease, Ah’m a Magpie. Ah like shiny pretty things. She’ll cost ya.”

A growl rumbled through the metal and the shutter snapped shut. The Magpie thought he had lost. He cursed under his breath, tugging on his wayward black and white hair.  

“What’s wrong?” The Butterfly asked, still clutching the drooping roses. He ignored her, too irritated to keep up the charade with her.

But he wasn’t cursing for long. The shutter opened and several items dropped to the filthy ground: a silver locket and picture frame from the Old Days, another Ration card and a vibrantly green silk scarf. The Magpie scrabbled for the items, shoving them into his oversized jacket pockets. “She’s worth that much, now hand her over Magpie,” the deep terrifying voice ordered the Magpie.

The Magpie grinned, as the door was unbolted. He grabbed the Butterfly and pulled her forward.

“What are you doing? Let me go!” she yelled, struggling weakly in his pinching grip.

The door swung open revealing an inky darkness and the Magpie grinned again. ”Good luck luv,” was all he said before shoving her into the Wolf’s Den.

And he ran, his pockets filled with his precious shiny things, the Butterfly’s screams ignored. His laughter echoed amongst the tombstone buildings like a bird’s call. 

Author's Note

This is being entered for the short story competition at my school. The stimulus was pictures, the picture I used is the icon for this story. The Magpies are stemmed from the boys in these pictures, as I saw them as spin offs from the boys in Oliver Twist by Chatles Dickens. Any thoughts?

Reviews

[tigerclaw]

I love the development of your story and the characters are alive with their vernacular. I found myself drwan to the story and losing myself amongst the words. Very engaging read. Best wishes with the competition.