Molested By Monkeys


Um, so can I just say that I’ve always been a bit scared of things that move? Okay, scratch that, I meant, I’ve always been apprehensive of anything that moves. For me, “anything that moves” includes humans, lizards, cockroaches, and suspiciously animated GIFs on the Internet. I don’t know why, I seem to have this pathological fear for anything that seems to be in motion. That is exactly why I don’t trust Venus Flytraps. You know, those weird plants that snap their jaws shut whenever an unsuspecting insect goes near their mouths?

Anyway, getting back to the subject at hand, I’m always very wary when it comes to animals. Humans, I can just about handle, but animals are the most unpredictable things ever. Monkeys, especially. There was this one incident involving monkeys, which I have never been able to forget. Whenever I think about that day, I shudder and grimace involuntarily.

It was a bright sunny morning, and C and I were on our way to E’s house to work on a school project. I’d just like a moment to mention that E’s house is practically in the middle of a jungle, so it isn’t uncommon for her family to chase away monkeys and such from their kitchen and backyard.

Anyway, C and I had just gotten off the bus, when he started craving something to eat. We still had a few minutes to spare before we had to be at her house, so we headed towards an Esso petrol station and into a convenience store.

We both chose our ice creams and then headed out, where they immediately started melting. The natural thing would be to eat them as fast as possible, no? That’s exactly what we did, except, for some reason, C finished his really quickly, and I was still only halfway through mine when we entered E’s street. The beginning of the forest.

Picture this: Here I am, skipping in the sunshine, happily enjoying my Popsicle, when suddenly, an ominous chattering starts up. I stop, and look around me. A group of monkeys have gathered around us, huddled over fences and staring at us from trees. I look at C, and he dismisses it with a shrug. I try to adopt a similar nonchalant attitude, but my heart has started beating faster and faster. My hands become clammy, and my icy treat doesn’t taste as good. I squeeze my eyes shut. I gulp. This is not how I wanted to die. WHAT WAS THIS CRUEL JOKE GOD WAS PLAYING ON ME? I DID NOT WANT TO DIE YOUNG. WHY ME?

I start to walk along cautiously, while C swishes his plastic bag around like a five-year old.

“Shhh!” I hiss at him, “What are you trying to do, seduce them into coming closer? Stop flinging that plastic bag around! Don’t lure them with the false promise of food!”

C narrowed his eyes at me, and continued flinging the bag around. The food inside the plastic bag crackled promisingly, and the amount of monkeys surrounding us suddenly doubled. Everywhere I looked, I could see a pair of cruel monkey eyes. I clutched at my bag, and lowered my eyes. Maybe they didn’t like eye contact?

Suddenly, five monkeys darted in front of me and crossed my path. I screamed a feeble cry for help and stopped walking. There was a particularly large monkey sitting right in front of me, not two paces away. It was apparently a mother, because she had a baby monkey clutched to her chest. The baby monkey sneered at me, and flashed his vicious eyes at me. I tell you, if looks could kill…

Then the little baby monkey started hissing. I think that’s about the time I lost it. It was the last straw. You know that illusion that babies are meant to be sweet and cuddly? WRONG. ABSOLUTELY WRONG. Especially when it comes to monkeys.

So there I was, being assaulted by monkeys when I threw caution to the wind, flung my ice-cream wrapper in their mean little faces and ran for my life towards E’s house.

My running away from them seemed to unleash some sort of trigger.  It was as if all hell had broken loose. The forest exploded with monkey squeals and chatters, as at least a hundred or so of the little brown pseudo-homo sapiens chased after me. I, in turn, also squealed as loud as I could, shouting, “GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU DEVIL CHILDREN, GET AWAY FROM ME, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU I GAVE YOU MY ICE CREAM WRAPPER THIS IS MY POPSICLE AND YOU CANT’T HAVE IT GET YOUR OWN.”

Meanwhile, C, started laughing hysterically and shambled along, not the slightest bit scared of the mentally deformed apes that were currently chasing me.

And that is my story. That is why I don’t like monkeys. I thought I was going to be eaten alive, and the E and C were pretty sure I was in desperate need of therapy after that horrifying encounter, but my parents didn’t think therapy was necessary, and frankly speaking, neither did I. I healed by myself, but I don’t think I have ever fully gotten over my fear of monkeys.

As you can see, I didn’t die. I got to E’s house before the monkeys could, and barricaded myself inside her gate, and then ran inside and hid in her room, so it was all good.

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