Cranberry Lynx
a short Story about a Vegan lynx
struggling to make art in a meat world.

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Page 1 of Cranberry Lynx

You, Catkin, a cranberry colored lynx, went seeking meat, but not animal flesh. You adopted a vegan appetite and philosophy. "Why cause more pain in the world when plants faint when harm nears? They are the epitome of self-sacrifice."

For meat you went seeking in America’s myth a living theatre play. Something that might say, "Tree. People. Tree." Which means to live life like a tree. Long independent even if in the company of a social forest, and when your time to fall comes, be content in the fact you blossomed art through your seasons and know new seeds will grow in the length of your life."

In your travels with Wey, a friend and lover, you met a white lion named Sire Crie. He wrote an ambiguous script titled ‘Hole’.

"What’s it about?" You asked sitting indian style on your black ink bed while Crie sat on the water blue sky of the floor.

"I’m not really sure. I wrote it automatic. It’s theatre but not. It’s a dream." Crie locked eyes with you. In his pupil you saw a rot blood spoiled purple. A thorn of dis-trust grew in your throat. "Thank you." Crie smiled to Wey and took the cup of coffee she handed him. As she sat near you on the bed Crie added, "You know. I find this beautiful."

The thorn jabbed in your throat. You wondered what he thought beautiful, Wey’s kindness or appearance of subservience? You ignored the thorn, agreed "Yes, her kindness is beautiful," and crossed to the chair holding your knee stained work clothes. "Well, I have to be getting ready for work. I’ll read the script. When is the audition?"

"Thursday." Crie informed you while smiling a stare at Wey. She smiled back. She probably saw plum in his eyes. She’s like that. She sees the best in the worst of things. While keeping her in his gaze Crie said, as if to you, "You know. I love to talk."

The thorn jabbed.

"Yes. Well. I have to be getting ready for work. The script?"

Crie broke his stare, stood slow with a stretch, shook his head and enjoyed the sway of his mane on his neck. "Yes. I suppose I should go."

"Yes." You agreed. "The script?"

"There." Crie looked down at his work laying on the floor like a piece of litter.

You picked up the work and placed it on the dragon trunk at the end of the bed "Thursday." You confirmed and gestured him toward the door.

"Yes." He agreed and bowed in Wey’s direction. "Thank you for the coffee, Wey."

"You’re welcome." She said and shook his hand.

His left cheek twitched. The thorn jabbed. He left. As you watched the energy of his foot prints fade purple you forced yourself to think, "He could be plum." And the thorn dissolved.

***

After work you and Wey read the script. "What do you think?" You asked.

"It’s grey and flat and weirdly pornographic. I don’t really understand it."

"Neither do I."

Wey continued, "Crie must be Rom. The cheek twitch. Who are you?"

"Angel, I guess. Crie didn’t specify."

"And Thindoll?"

"Don’t know."

"I thought he might have told you while I made coffee."

"No. He didn’t."

"Oh. Well. When you find out I don’t mind kissing on stage but not full nudity."

"What about back stage?"

"Do and find out."

Wey gave you a serious smile playful. You thought to kiss her, but waited. "You said, "This script reminds me of the last show I did. The director said he was vegan, but really was meat. He didn’t want individuals on stage but puppets of his egotism. Of course, my vanity got in the way. I shouldn’t have done it. It hurt."

"So what’re you going to do?"

"I don’t know. I need the work. Audition Thursday I guess." You explained "And kiss you and see what happens."

You kissed Wey and she kissed you and you two did what two lynx do.

***

Thursday you met at a cheetah’s studio apartment. "This is Nasoon. She is Thindoll," Crie explained, and stepped into the hall with a previous actor.

"Tea?" She asked.

"Yes." You agreed and handed your resume to the director, Jeb. He was a black panther. He glanced at your credits, set the resume aside, and asked, "What’re you looking for in theatre, Catkin?"

"To make vegan art"

"Of course. Anything else?"

"To have some fun again."

"Again? What do you mean by that?"

You hesitated a moment to speak the truth, but decided it good for a working relationship and so said, "Well, on the last show there were some problems. The director didn’t want individuals on stage. He wanted puppets. Of course my vanity got in the way."

Jeb considered your words while picking something red from under his nail and wiping it on a napkin from his pocket. "Well. I appreciate that and want you to know I don’t consider my actors my meat."

A thorn grew in your throat. You thought, "That’s exactly what the last director said."

"Your tea." Nasoon entered the room and handed you a cup.

"Thank you."

"Where’s mine?" Crie asked stepping in from the hall.

"You know where the kitchen is." She told him.

"Yes, I do." Crie smiled knowingly at you, picked up your resume and fixed himself a cup of tea. "Jeb, did you see Catkin’s resume? "

"Yes."

"You have more experience than I thought. Very impressive." Crie returned and sat near Jeb.

"Thank you."

"Well. Let’s just read through and see what happens." Jeb suggested.

"Am I Angel?" You asked.

"Yes. Who else would you be? My character?" Crie laughed.

The thorn in your throat jabbed. You ignored it.

You, Nasoon, and Crie sat in a triangle and read through while Jeb watched over. While reading you felt some small communion with these people and hope for a positive journey through the work. When done Crie smiled hugely to Jeb and Nasoon. "He’s good."

"Yes." Jeb agreed and asked, "What do you think of the script?"

"It has enough shreds of character to be developed."

"Good. Well. Let us talk and we’ll let you know." Jeb said.

"Okay. Thanks." You shook hands and left.

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