Willy

By Gary Davison

Lying on his back, he watched a small dot move across the ceiling and disappear into a crack. The bugs were getting bolder, he thought, as he stood up and slapped at something crawling on his neck.

The room was five paces wide with damp, chalky concrete walls. In the center of the room was a desk with a manual typewriter, where he sat down and started typing his daily plea for help: Oooee oooh! eeeio eeekie, aeeeie ooohe ooki eeekee!

Watching through the one-way glass, the little ones giggled as Dad read the bronze placard: ‘Willy, the amazing, typing chimpanzee.’