SotA Anthology 2018-19 | Page 94

I should explain now that my parents forbid me ever journeying to the Zoo. At the age of six and three quarters I declared myself an animal rights activist. It was directly after I’d watched an advert that asked viewers for £2 to save the Mexican Donkeys. A Donkey will not do something if they consider it unsafe. I gave my mum two of the five pounds I had saved and I’ve sponsored a Donkey named Honda ever since. I knew that mum and dad would be upset, angry and even disappointed if they knew I had come here but I couldn’t understand why. They’ve always said ‘You just won’t like it Hen.’ And ‘It’s not for you.’ I knew they would think I was just at Gran’s. At Gran’s and definitely not at the Zoo. Mum’s 1:30 phone call was looming. Only the opening sentence wouldn’t be ‘hello love, its only me’ but rather ‘what the hell are you doing to my nerves Henry Phillip Carmichael’. I’d predicted it would probably be worse than when Dad screamed ‘why aren’t you just a normal boy’ at me during a family BBQ two summers ago or when my electric toothbrush died in my mouth. After what felt like much longer than a forty-seven-minute journey, the driver screeched myself, Lind, Sharon, and other hopefuls to a halt. By which time, the premature standers were in full swing. Ruck sack straps flailed about invading personal space. My personal space. They danced to a symphony of dings produced by over-pressing of the ‘stop’ button, courtesy of the small grubby hand of Sharon’s youngest. I relocated my green shades from forehead to face then picked up my Panda rucksack I got at the WWF convention with mum last September. Did you know that by the year 2050, the world could lose 30% of Polar Bears to Global Warming? That’s 271560 hours the Polar Bear has left. 94