Et tu, Brute? Part 1

"One, please," Michael said.
The ticket attendant looked at him with cocked eyebrow, "Just the one? Aren't you a little old for the zoo, pal?"
"I'm, uh, meeting my wife and kids here," he blurted.
The attendant glanced at his naked ring finger and nodded his head slowly.
"Right. You're not one of those weird dudes who gets off on animals, are you?"
"What? No! Look, man, I just wanna hang out at the zoo. Is that so weird?"
"Yeah," the attendant said bluntly. "It is."
Michael nabbed the ticket from the man's hand and pushed his way through the turn stall.

Michael had always loved the zoo ever since he was a kid. In college he worked part-time feeding the penguins, but life had taken him down a path away from the zoo.That never stopped from visiting from time to time, though. Whenever he was feeling down, or even when he was happy he'd come pay a visit and just talk to the animals. It was his own sort of therapy-- he took comfort in talking to someone that wasn't going to talk back. Sometimes you're not looking for answers, just a sounding board.
His favorite had always been the tiger enclosure.
Tigers always looked in control. They weren't in captivity; they were on vacation.

Michael headed toward the Tiger enclosure, just like he'd done for the past ten years.  Through the gate, past the monkeys, wave to Bernie the Janitor, trade jokes with the parrots, just beyond the polar bears on the left.
"Et tu, Brute?" he said to Brutus, the large Bengal tiger. Brutus arrived at the zoo when Michael was 13 years old. And even now, 14 years later, there he was on the same rock. Like an emperor hoisted above his people.  Brutus glanced down at Michael, slowly blinked his eyes and jumped off down the rock.
"My dear boy,  you've used that same line for years," Brutus said.
Michael was stunned. He quickly looked around-- maybe someone was messing with him? No. It was just him and Brutus.
"B-Brutus?" Michael asked.
"In the stripes," the tiger responded.
"This can't be real."
"Oh, it's very real, Michael," Brutus said, smiling.
Michael was amazed that the tiger was talking back to him, but even more amazing somehow was his distinct speech.
"The fact that I'm talking to a tiger aside... why do you have an english accent?" Michael asked.
Brutus sat down on his back legs, his tail whipped left to right, "Have you ever considered that maybe the english speak with Tiger accents?"
No, in fact, he hadn't.
"Let me be clear, Michael. This is a rare honor. I'm almost certain I shouldn't even be doing this-- the monkeys will be furious, no doubt," he said.
"Of course they will," Michael said without thinking. "I'm sorry. So, I'm really talking to you right now? No one else can hear you?"
"Anyone can hear me, dear boy, you're just the only person that's ever listened," Brutus said.
"Okay... I'm listening. Now what?"
Brutus stood and sauntered closer to the dividing gate. There was a mischievous gleam in his eye and whiskers bristled as he spoke, "Now, Michael, the fun can begin."

Random Suggestions

The following story is built around random phrases from suggestions on Facebook...


Ensigns Merrick Analbum and Frank Cover relaxed during the few hours they had off from engineering by sitting at the ship’s bar, waxing philosophic on everything from politics to space travel.
“So, tell me something, Cover,” Analbum said between gulps. “ You’re a man of science, and yet you believe in some sort of saccharine sweet zombie jesus?”
“That’s a gross oversimplification, but yes,” Cover responded, rather proudly. Analbum scoffed and finished the last gulp of his drink. “That’s about as silly as a penis Hitler pirate!”
“Oh, were they the scourge of the high seamens?” Analbum and Cover shared a laugh before ordering another round.
“Yes, but only the circumcised ones,” Analbum said with a wink.
“Seriously, though, “Cover said. “It’s really not that much of a stretch. Science is all around us, and so is God.”
“That’s easy to say when there’s no proof. I could say, ‘Hey in the next room there is a monkey with tits that squirts german space nuts, but he’s shy so he’ll hide if you try and go in there.’ That’s the same logic to me,” Analbum said.
“German space nuts?” Cover laughed. “That’s an extreme example, but I understand what you’re saying. Of course, you’re not going to like what I have to say in return, though,” he said.
“I know, I know. Faith. Everything comes down to faith. Which, again, seems like a cop out to me. What is faith? Faith is hoping you’re not wrong,” Analbum said.
Cover finished his drink and took Analbum’s hand in his. “Merrick, we’ve been friends for how many years?”
“Five. Why are you holding my hand?”
“Just shut up for a minute,” Cover said, gripping his hand tighter. “There are... questions we all have about our existence, about this universe, about what lies beyond,” Cover’s face was dead serious.
“Frank, let go--”
“No, Merrick. It’s time for you to let go,” Cover said. “Just. Let. Go.”
Frank Cover leaned in close toward Merrick, his lips virtually resting on his ear.
“Space ears rape.”
“What?”
“Trash junk stuff,” Cover whispered.
“What the fuck?" Merrick pulled away, but Frank held him by the back of his neck. Merrick tried again to pull away, but Frank’s grip was too strong.
“Merrick. Merrick!” Cover pleaded.
“Let me go, you son of a bitch!”
Frank held Merrick’s face close to his, “Billy Ray Cyrus.”
Merrick froze.
“What... what did you say?”
“Billy Ray Cyrus,” Cover repeated.
Frank released his grip on Merrick’s neck and Merrick slowly fell back into his chair. After a moment Merrick rose, resting one hand on the bar.
Finally, he looked back at an understanding Frank.
“I remember,” Merrick said, tears welling up in his eyes. “I remember everything.”
The two men embraced.
"Welcome home."