Consider the Others

I sat in my cage, watching as a jammer stared at us. He looked at each one of us, until he finally made the choice. "The fox, duh!" He reached inside the glass container, labeled "Number #7", taking out the little fox. "I'll name you Glamourfox." he whispered, 7# still cradled in his arms as he walked away. I scratched at the walls of my cages, yowling out in agony for him to come back. "COME BACK! PLEASE!" I screeched, but he was long gone. I sighed, curling up into a ball.

Hi. I don't have a name, but everybody calls me "Number #9", as that is the number on my crate. I'm a white and yellow monkey with a pale tan face and the closed eyes. The fox the jammer took home was Number 7#, a crimson and dark gray fox with ears that stuck straight up and closed eyes as well. Of course. Crimson and black were a popular combanation, and she was in the best condition. Nothing but a few scratches, unlike the rest of us.

Despite being a more popular shopping area then Claws N' Paws, the Diamond Shop treats it bests worse. Instead of letting their pets run around and play with toys and even there own pool, Diamond Shop pets are crammed in crates, locked away until somebody adopts them. The pets on the pedastal in the Diamond Shop? Holograms. We are trapped here, and slowly, we will either die, or we will go insane...

Number 1#, a pet cheetah, has only second best condition, ironically. He's freezing and cold. Shivering there, all alone. He gnaws on the clear plastic walls of his cage, ever wishing to escape.

Number 2#, a pet eagle, has second WORST condition, however. One of her wings and one of her feet were ripped off by her own best friend, Number 6#. Constantly, she lets out vivid screaks of pain, slowly bleeding out, day by day.

Number 3#, a pet raccoon, is also among one of them in the best condition. Using his claws, he scrapes out tallies of how long we've been here. He'd made so many tallies I can't even count. He begs for it to be over, but nobody listens.

Number 4#, a pet arctic wolf, thinks she isn't perfect. She was pink and blue; SO close to pink and white, and what many people would adopt. But she isn't. She ripped out the eye of Number 8# JUST so she could use it paint herself white. It NEVER works, however, and it never will.

Number 5#, a pet tiger, wants it to be over badly. He scratches hiself, leaving thin trails of blood left from his claws on the ground. He wants it to be over already.

Number 6#, a pet owl, has lost his sanity. "FUN" he wrote on the wall in the blood of his best friend. He ripped off his best friend's wing and foot, and he often chews on them.

Number 8# was a pet tranula. He rarely comes around, however. His owners seem to do something to him when they take him back when Night of the Phantoms' is over. One time, he tried to scribble the word "HELP" on the walls of his cage, but his owners took him back before he finished. This year, when he came back, he had a missing leg!

Number 9# is me, a pet monkey. I know I will never get adopted. The one thing all other pets shared was hope, or at least HAPPINESS. I have no hope, and all my happiness is clouded by sadness. Nobody wants a monkey. Nobody wants an  ugly monkey.

I wiped some of my blood onto my fingers, and using it, I smeared the words "CONSIDER THE OTHERS" onto the wall of transparent plastic, before dislodging a shard of plastic off the walls. Then..

Cut!

That day, those workers would find a dead monkey, with the label "Number 9#" on her crate, with a cut on her neck.