King of Beasts

The lion roars in his cage. I'm standing on the far side of his small enclosure, and the heavy smell of his pelt fills the room. Hard not to feel like I'm in a jungle somewhere with this tawny creature stalking me, assessing my status as prey. He screams again, and I shudder dramatically.

Don't ask me how I ended up in this dismal space station on the edge of nowhere. I know you don't care. Smile, please, when the cameras flash.

The lion roars.

I've imagined it—the bars, unable to hold the soul of a king. How he would come at me in slow motion and dislodge body parts in a spray of artistic red. My head would become a Rorschach blot against the wall, the long rope of my innards strewn in mystic patterns on the floor.

The spacers would shake their heads. "Only a matter of time," they'd say. "Got too close to the beast," they'd say.

I reach a hand through the bars in massive daring, making the spacers who paid for the show gasp and shake in terror.

No, they don't.

You're right, they don't. Perhaps I only see mocking eyes glittering at me from a multitude of faces. Or perhaps there is something in that sea of brutal flesh that is akin to respect.

I tap the bars, one-two-three. The spacers look up at the sound, gazelles scenting a predator.

The lion roars.

"Come see the Earth-beast, last of its kind, the king of the jungle—step up, step up, don’t mind the noise. Raised him from a cub. I'm the only one he trusts,” I lie. “Don't get too near, sir, ma'am. Don't dare the strength of his cage."

They file past. Some stare, others put hands over mouths, noses. Some hold their palms out towards the cage and press their fingers together quickly—taking pictures with their surgically built-in cameras. I have one in my palm too, but it's ten years old and worthless without upgrades.

Not that I want to take a picture of this godawful space station, a real junker of a destination held together with duct tape and string. But at one time, I was at the center of the galaxy. At one time, my show had class.

None of it matters, really. All of it went bust after Ron left. All went to hell when Ron caught me going at it in our quarters with a random groupie and took the real deal away with him.

I wonder where he is now. If he ever thinks of me skulking out here on the edge of the universe with nothing left.

Behind me, the lion bellows, innumerable gears and cogs moving together effortlessly. A sack of nuts and bolts rolled up in a dead creature's skin.

"The king of beasts!" I shout.

One by one, they look at me, shake their heads, and walk away.