Greetings. Allow me to introduce myself.

My name is Charles Alexander. I am an employee of the Neuroscience division of Alcatec Labs. We

are located on 64th street in New York, New York. I myself live in a complex on 77th and 8th. It’s

small, but as of recent weeks I have been getting new renovations. I can’t say there is much to do

aside from write these days.

I enjoy going to new places around the city. That is, I try to enjoy doing so. Simply traveling to the

different Burroughs can be physically exhausting if you aren’t prepared to pay upwards of a

month’s rent. There are also not enough places to sit down, I find. Finding a place where you can

see what you’re looking at as though it were a painting. The way most places are designed, I feel

as though they were meant to be looked at rather than used. Any place becomes tiresome once

lived in long enough.

I don’t know if I would make the best tour guide you can find for New York City. There are dozens

of people on the streets as we speak who make a small living sharing their knowledge. I don’t

know what makes one better than the other. I suppose you can find one friendlier than the other.

I have only been in the city for so long however, and I certainly can’t claim to have been

everywhere yet. Even when work calls for outside context I still find myself having to borrow a

map.

Yet it is poor form for an author to prostrate themselves before their critics, especially at the

onset of the work itself. The strongest asset one has in their repertoire is their ability to

communicate. If there is one thing I see the city hinging on, it’s communication. More so than

food or oxygen, it’s the ability to communicate that enables the proliferation of a community. I

have met people who have nothing in common with each other, but all of them would be in some

way trapped or limited if they could not convey themselves.

Everywhere there are words. There are billboards and buses and billboards on buses trying to

communicate something to someone. Often times it’s too much to handle. I can never process

that much and I don’t think anyone around me can either. Every time I travel around the city I find

myself trying to count the different signs, advertisements and verbal addressing that permeate

any one block. It’s daunting.

But I’m not here to monologue about billboards and ads for who knows how long you’re willing to

listen to me. I’m here to discuss my experiences in moving to the city and as well as living here. I

want to give an idea of what it has been like for me so someone out there can read it and maybe

relate. Since writing is a form of communication, I feel I may as well start things off by explaining

why communication is so interesting to me. In my experience, being able to communicate is

paramount with being able to survive. Yet of all the tools used by humans it is probably the most

abused.

That’s what I think at least. I’m not going to lie and say my time here has given me a bright

outlook on the way people communicate to each other. Maybe it’s unreasonable to hold people

under a lens and expect what they do to mean something worth writing down. But then that’s

done so often out of habit anyway. A science is made out of it. I suppose I have enough of a

background in science to write myself.

Also I am a chimp.

Colloquially, a chimpanzee. Scientifically, I am a member of the species Pan Troglodytes. I am 5’6.

Most but not all adult humans are 4’9 to 6’4. I have become more accustomed to the fact that I

have more hair than many of my neighbors. I have not looked into it but I am almost certain that

human beings hide most of their hair under their clothes. I am afraid to ask if this is true. The

shape of my arms and face and legs is generally different from that of human beings. This much I

understand.

I do not live in a zoo. I almost lived in a zoo. I currently live in a human apartment complex as

stated before. I have been in perhaps two or three other living spaces for human beings. There

are subtle alterations to people’s furniture that make them different from my own, but I am at a

loss as to how to explain it. Otherwise I don’t think they are that different. Every day I go to work.

Every night I go home, and then occasionally I like to go out and move about the city.

I work as a Program developer in the research division of Alcatec. I can’t write too much about the

work I do because I am under contract to be discreet about most of our research. I have been told

I’m at liberty to discuss my feelings and relationships with other members of the branch, as long

as I don’t mention or imply anything about the Alcatec’s activity or plans. I suppose that is fair.

Being a chimpanzee in New York is something that can be difficult. As of today, there are not

many chimpanzees living and walking amongst human beings. Perhaps this will change in the

future. I am not sure. Occasionally I have heard of other chimpanzees who go beyond living in

zoos, but so far it seems I am the only one trying to live domestically on my own. I meet people,

people meet me.

I don’t get asked a lot about what I think. So I’m going to write it down. If there’s anyone out

there who wants to know what it means to be a chimpanzee in New York, here you go.

Chapter 2

My earliest memories were in a greener place. There were large brown trees almost everywhere.

The ground was both green and brown somehow. You could climb up the trees, even sleep on the

big sticks that came out of them. This is where you found most of your food. The air was different.

I’m still not sure if it was because there were less people there, because there were more than

enough trees to make up for it. I don’t remember a point where the trees ended. I know the city

ends.

There were only so many others that were like me. We were rarely far from each other. They

were always moving, but I was always following them. I don’t remember much from this time

except for one member of the Group. She was the one I was always close to. I think she was my

mother.

Most of what I remember was feeling safe. Sometimes other members would be loud and mobile.

The one I think was my mother would try to stand in front of me.

I can’t remember a lot of other things.

I don’t remember the day where I started being in a Laboratory. I was slightly older I suppose. I

was given a lot to play with, but then I didn’t have many other playmates or family members to

play with. For a long time there was little more than a glass wall and a few assorted objects mixed

with hay. Sometimes I go to the zoo and see other animals in the same state. They don’t seem to

have the same prospective as me.

Eventually I became literate. This was the start of a long period of tests that culminated in larger

living spaces for me with more objects to play with. Eventually, I had a space big enough to

accommodate most humans. I was given comprehension tests on a daily basis. By the time I was

20, I was deemed intelligent enough by my keepers to be able to hold a human level GED. For a

year I was being given interviews with scientists and celebrities. I can’t really recall who was

important enough for what function, but apparently the results were noteworthy enough to be

published. Sometimes I read them, when I need to understand my appeal.

Probably my proudest moment was when I started working for Alcatec. I was given a tour one day

by some of the lab employees on my way to the daily tests. Because these tests were held next to

the research department, I would often be walked through the section of the floor with the

offices. I remember the way everyone used to treat me. They were always curious, sometimes

amused, sometimes disgusted, but always curious. At times I would be brought into their office.

One employee, Pietro, would go so far as to let me use his computer. Every day I would use a

different program. Pietro decided to work with the other lab employees to create programs that

could gauge my working capabilities. To everyone’s surprise, I was apparently capable enough to

do enough to earn a steady paycheck.

I wished this would make me more popular. Most of the employees were not flattered that I could

perform most of their jobs. Nevertheless, I signed a contract and soon became a regular

employee of Alcatrec.

Being the sole Chimpanzee employee of a full-time research department tends to hamper job

satisfaction. Sitting in a chair isn’t the worst thing about the job, but it certainly is the thing that

annoys me the most. I have been working in some position or another with chairs for years now

and I still find the process of aligning myself on the chair so I can focus on work more bothersome

than everyone else. I try not to complain but it doesn’t take long for people walking in my cubicle

for them to bring it up. I wish everyone would either drop it or get different chairs. I don’t think

either is likely to happen.

As far as the research goes, I suppose I enjoy it. Having a unique background with the material

helps, although not as much as you might think. It’s something that just essentially becomes a

routine you get adjusted to. When I was in the lab, every new toy they would throw me wasn’t

just something new and exciting. Each time I was given something new it felt like life was

expanding somewhat. I felt like there was going to be a new challenge or feat to remember right

around the corner. For some reason, it just doesn’t come to me anymore. From what I gather, lots

of people feel that way. Not everyone though. That gives me hope.

Collecting and reworking probability concepts into theorems is something that takes most of my

week. Occasionally I have to compile them into a major report at the end of the week. It depends

on who needs them that week. I take pride in what I do. I have not really had any other job

outside of lab work, but at least the field has broad applications. There’s so much yet to do with

science that has yet to be done. I heard about big things in France with thermonuclear fusion. I

don’t work in thermonuclear fusion but it certainly sounds incredible.

The community in the office is fairly reasonable I suppose. There’s Reggie, Ryan, Brianna, Joseph,

Chandir, Max, Topeka, and Sharon. They’re my chief staff, though I won’t reveal their last names

unless they ask me to. They haven’t yet but I’ll start to when they say so. I think they are all

interesting, except they work all the time, so they more often than not are very boring instead. I

have met several other people who do more and say more than my team has in our entire career.

I would like to see them be exciting more often.

I find that Reggie is kind of fat and easily intimidated. Ryan is big and likes to make large gestures.

Brianna is very curt. Joseph is pretty friendly but he is also hard to talk to. Chandir talks too much

and seems too friendly to everyone except me. Max likes to play jokes and flirt with other

employees except me. Topeka is always a happy person. I don’t think I have seen her lose her

temper like everyone else. Sharon is bored easily. She seems to like the color purple

There are other people in my building, but I can’t say I have really made their acquaintance. This is

partially why I was surprised by how much I was being monitored during my job. By the time I was

contacted by the Governor of New York State, they had hours of surveillance videos and books

full of notes on my actions. Most of my documents were copied and compiled into binders that

were being circulated throughout the company. For the longest time I thought I was holding my

own alongside my fellow employees and contributing my share to the division.

It was April 11th of this year that I received a group email. The email was from several different

directors and executives within the company. They all wanted to speak with me personally. My

work was being reviewed by an outside sub-committee formed by the state government.

Apparently no other Chimpanzee was able to sustain the working duties of a human being for as

long as I had. Once word spread of my actual species, there was controversy as to whether I was

to be allowed to work at my post.

I didn’t know this walking into the main board room on the 8th floor. I didn’t even know we had

that board room. I was just really afraid something was going to change again. I would end up

somewhere different and strange, and I wouldn’t be able to do anything useful. No one around

me knew anything about it. Every time I tried to ask someone about the meeting, they all seemed

worried and didn’t know what to say. I think that was the worst part. There was no precedence

for this. There was no manual or document that would prepare me for what was beyond that

door.

The room was brighter than I thought it would be when I arrived. There were at least 10 different

men and women in suits sitting at the three tables inside. An older man sat at the center table.

This man was the Governor. They all tried to avoid staring at me when I walked in, but I always

caught at least one of them meeting my gaze directly before suddenly scribbling on their pieces of

paper. The Governor greeted me and asked me if I would like a seat. In that instant I became

somewhat agitated. Did they organize a meeting to see how uncomfortable I would be in one of

their chairs? I sulkily looked toward a corner of the room and chose one of the identical looking

blue chairs. They were different from the one I used in my cubicle, but they still had the same

general build. I did my best to fit into the chair. Everyone started looking uncomfortable, and the

Governor suggested that someone find an adjustable chair. I was thoroughly uncomfortable, but

not in a physical sense. If I knew how important a Governor was back then, I probably would have

been even more uncomfortable.

By the time one of the executives found a chair that could be adjusted, I was introduced to all of

them. They started by asking me a lot of questions. They first asked me questions about my job

that I was fairly comfortable with answering. Things like how I liked my work and if it could be

improved. Then they started asking me about how I got into the company and what my life was

like before I started working there. I didn’t like these questions. I didn’t know what they wanted

out of me, and it seemed likely that they were going to fire me. I only became more

uncomfortable as they continued. They asked me things like how I went to sleep and how I came

to work. They asked me if I had any trouble understanding anyone around me.

Questions like these were unnerving for me. I didn’t want to answer them. But I did anyway

because I didn’t know what else to do. I was pretty sure I was about to be fired. I was even more

certain when they started asking about my future. Not just within the company, but in general. I

just told him I would like to keep working with the company in any way I could. I didn’t know what

their reaction to this meant. I hoped things would just keep going the way they were.

Then the man in the center table pulled out a file and passed it over to me so I could read it. He

said that the research compiled over the years at Alcatrec was circulated to other scientific

facilities across the country. They wanted to know the anthropological value of my existence.

Apparently there were very few chimpanzees that held jobs at human companies or lived in

spaces designed for humans or communicated with humans on a regular basis with humans in

human tongue. They felt that if I could provide my thoughts on my living situation, they could

accomplish amazing progress in research for other animals. They believe that determining

similarities between apes and humans will help establish new discoveries about the human mind.

They also said the outcome of the research would impact the treatment of animals.

They wanted me to submit a daily account of my thoughts to them through email. They told me

that otherwise they could have me transferred to the New York City Zoo. It is unlikely I would be

contributing much to them there.

I asked them how long the process would be. They said they needed a year at most, though they

understood if there were certain days in which I would not be able to contribute. They wanted me

to interact with others and see if I could function on a level they said was human. They promised

financial and professional support if I could contribute for a full year. I decided to sign the contract

they gave me.

The last thing I did before I left was shake their hands. They were all surprised so I was glad I did.

1. March 12th, 1938

Whatever darkness fell over the city of Berlin, the moonlight overwhelmed it in a way that it

seemed especially bright that night. There were few houselights on at the time, but from a bird’s

eye view it seemed as though there was something especially clear about the city that would

make travelers look more than once before going on their way. It was as though God needed

glasses, and remembered to clean them before casting the divine luminescence of His sacred eyes

upon the village. To those in the city, looking up towards the moon would have made it seem as

though the round, impassive sphere was shining specifically on themselves.

Few people were walking the streets that night in Berlin. Those that did have business

and those who did not wanted to be as far from that business as possible. One man was looking

up at the moon. He looked at it from a window on the third floor of the apartment building from

which he and his family resided. It was a small window, yet it was wide enough for him to stick his

head outside and gaze at the moon. A part of him kept telling himself to bring back his head as

soon as possible, lest he draw any attention to himself that would have attracted trouble. He had

spent much of that day trying to keep his head down, and even then he got more than a few

threatening looks from people who actually noticed him. But no matter how much that fearful

part of his consciousness told him to stop looking, looking at the moon that night gave him

feelings he had not had in a long time. A part of him felt as though a weight had dropped off his

shoulders, as though he could breathe air in deep gasps rather than short, punctuated draws. He

wasn’t compelled to do either of these things by the moon. He simply felt as though the forces he

once believed in had come back that night, in the form of the moon, and were permeating the

world with a sense of mystery and wonder. These were words that one left behind for children

when one grew up.

The man put his hand on his face and grasped his beard, as though it were some kind of

trophy he didn’t know had been there. How long had it been since he first grew it out? Had it

really been so many years since he was a boy? Time rarely feels like what it is meant to be, he

thought. He turned from the window towards the room’s interior, which possessed the faint

trappings of a child’s bedroom. A small, wooden bed took up the right side of room. The man was

drawn from his nostalgia revelry by a heightened sense of anxiety. Why had his daughter not yet

returned from the bathroom? How long does it take for a child to get a glass of water? The man

was tempted to shout after the daughter, but doing so would only wake the rest of his family,

who sorely needed rest. He started walking from the window when the daughter appeared at the

doorway, with a glass of water held in both of her small hands.

“I have the water, father,” said the man’s daughter. Her large brown eyes looked at him

with a sense of accomplishment that briefly pacified him. Nevertheless, he was quick to

reprimand her for worrying him so. “Sarida,” he whispered tensely, “why did it take you so long to

get a glass of water? What had happened?” He tried as hard as he could not to scold the child too

fiercely, lest he upset her and make more noise inadvertently. The child’s face became less

cheerful but excessively so. “I was trying to open the refrigerator father. That’s where Mama said

the water was.”

“The refrigerator? Ach! Why would one go to the refrigerator for water? Why not go to

the sink in the lavatory?” said the Man.

“Mama said not to drink the water from the sink. She said the landlord would not put

good water in there for us. She said to only use the water in the-“

“Ach. That woman! She thinks too much about the water. Dear, the landlord would not

give us bad water. Not at the rate that we pay. That water in the refrigerator is only for

emergencies. Do you understand child?”

“Yes father,” the child said sadly. Her face fell further as the understanding of her error

took full effect. Her eyes dropped down to the floor. Again, the man worried that he had upset

her too much for her to get some rest. He was hoping to read her a bed time story before she

went to sleep.

“Now now, Sarida,” he said, “Do not do this again. I promise you that the water is fine.”

“Are you sure father? Can you check?” The child held up the small glass of water to the

man. He picked it up and brought it to eye level. It was faintly discolored, but there were no

visible specks of dirt or other detritus floating in it that called its composition into serious

question. There was probably healthier water to drink in other apartments, thought the man, but

this would have to do for her. There was nothing else to drink.

“It is fine,” he said warmly. He handed the glass back to her small hands. Her face still

seemed concerned. She did not seem as likely to drink from the glass as she did a few seconds

ago. “It is fine child,” he reassured her again. “You can drink from it and you will be fine. Just don’t

tell your mother that you took water from the sink. You can tell her that I gave you some from the

refrigerator. Do you understand? It would only upset her.”

“Yes father,” the girl said as her soft features returned to their previous state. She seemed

relieved by her father’s reassurance, and his secret desire was fulfilled when she crawled into bed

and immediately said “Father, may I have a story tonight?”

“Of course child, of course,” the man said, his warm smile expanding. He turned to pick

up a small chair from the corner of the room, placing it next to the child’s small bed. He carefully

lowered his weight unto it lest he create more noise. Once positioned, he turned his attention to

the young girl who had already tucked herself in with anticipation. “So,” said the man, “which

story would you like to hear tonight?”

“Well………,” the child pondered for a moment, recalling the most memorable stories her

father told in her mind. The father patiently allowed her some time to consider her choice. Finally,

the Child made her decision. “I would like a new story tonight father, if that is alright.”

“Hmm, very well, I will try to see if I can recall any old ones. Give me a few seconds child.”

The man stroked his beard thoughtfully as he tried to think of any stories from his youth that his

father used to tell him. It seemed like his father had an endless supply of stories, some new and

some taken from books and elders. He wondered which ones would be appropriate for a girl so

young that would still be able to capture her interest. As he continued thinking, his face turned to

the window, and he was reminded of the moon. His mind turned to the feelings it have him, and

those feelings of safety that he possessed as a child. He wondered if there was such a story that

would give those feelings to his daughter.

“Papa, if you cannot think of one, you can continue the last story you told me if you like.”

His daughter’s soft voice carried notes of outward understanding and clothed impatience, as she

was at an age where both may have well been the same thing.

The man considered this only briefly before insisting “No no, child. I am simply trying to

recall a story that my father told me. It made me feel a certain way, but I am having trouble……

remembering it. Hmm!” The man’s brows furrowed as he tried to concentrate on what the events

constituted the story. He knew there was a prince involved, but to what end he had trouble

grasping…..ah! Now he remembered. The man recalled only a few more details but it was enough

to constitute a worthy bedtime fable.

“Ah! I suddenly remember. It’s a good thing too child, as this one was a story that my

father told me when I was exactly your age. It was so good, that it remained in my heart even as I

had trouble remembering it! Ha ha. Such is a good story, yes? Well, are you ready Sarida?”

“Yes father,” the child said quietly, her eyes glowing with anticipation as she tried to

imagine what exciting adventures were about to be told.

“Very well then,” the father said as he readjusted himself in the small chair for comfort.

“Let me see….the story begins far back in the olden times.

Once, there was a kingdom that used to be the greatest kingdom that ever existed. At its very

center, there was a palace as opulent as one could be without being the palace of the Almighty

God Himself. There were a thousand rooms in all, half for each member of the royal family and

half for the pleasure of the guests. In this palace, there lived a king, who was first and foremost a

Holy Man who used his wealth to ensure the people around him would prosper. In this, he gained

the love of those around him, and this love led to many prosperous years under his rule.

Eventually, one of his many children was playing and making joy in the palace, and in his

youthful merrymaking he wandered into a forgotten chamber of the palace deep below its

corridors. The entrance to this chamber was so small and so well-hidden no one but a child could

ever be bothered to see it. Because the palace had never been occupied by children in its history

until the king’s family arrived, no human in history had ever known of this entrance. Only

someone as frivolous as a child could notice the entrance. This child, the youngest of the king’s

sons, had stumbled upon the entrance into the chamber, and found that the chamber contained a

staircase that extended deep into the Earth.

The child descended the staircase, and at the bottom he had found a palace that was

similar to the one above, yet in many ways different. The flames that were used to shine the

hallways were green. The writings and insignia used in the halls were all in a language not yet

known to man. The walls seemed solid from the ground up until they gradually dissipated as they

reached the ceiling, for the roof seemed naught but a collection of small stars set against the

night sky. The child was amazed at what he had found, for his father never taught him of such

things.

He knew his father would scold him if he did not return to his home, but he felt so

entranced that he could not stop himself from exploring this new palace. There did not seem to

be anyone inhabiting the palace, but the child continued exploring nonetheless. He eventually

found a throne room that contained what appeared to be hundreds of demons and fairies.

Dozens of strange creatures were moving around the large room, each looking different from the

others. Some were large. Some were small. Some were hideous. Some were beautiful. Some had

many arms. Some had many eyes. Some had neither arms nor eyes. Some had claws. Some had

tails. Some had features that were human in shape but animalistic in nature. Some appeared to

have the shape of animals yet possessed the features of man nonetheless. It was all beyond the

child’s comprehension, so he yelled in surprise and fear.

All of the creatures turned their attentions to the boy as soon as they heard his cry. All of

them seemed to be stunned by the child’s appearance, gazing at the boy with their eyes and non-

eyes. They slowly began emitting strange noises that sounded not quite like growling and yet not

quite like whispering. The child could not make out anything resembling a human word. Slowly

the Throne Room’s attendants looked less stunned and became more severe, and then their

noises became louder and more unpleasant as they began to approach the boy. The boy grew

more afraid as they grew closer and louder, but all he could do was cry. He was afraid these

creatures would harm him, and he had no one to protect him.

Suddenly, there was a loud yell from the back of the throne room, and the creatures

suddenly stopped. They all parted ways as a fair-featured boy emerged from behind their ranks.

The boy had dark, unruly hair, and his face had the sharp definition of a man’s. Yet his features

and body were undeniably those of a child, not much older than the King’s son. His eyes were the

color of gold. They stayed focused on the King’s son, and they remained so even as the boy

floated to him. He reached his hand out to the King’s son, who was still in shock from these

creatures, and the child, fearing all else, grasped it. The two small figures shook hands until it

became apparent that the floating child meant no harm.

“Who are you,” asked the child.

The floating child answered, “I am the Prince Nechemya. Who are you?”

…

“Ach,” said the Father, suddenly pausing. “I have forgotten how long this story is. It is best

we stop here and let you go to bed. Are you tired now Sarida?”

The girl curled into her small bed, affixing her blanket around her as much as she could.

“Yes papa, thank you for the story. Will you continue tomorrow night? I like the stories with

different kingdoms and fairies and things.”

“Of course bubbeleh, my child. When has your father not had a story for you? As soon as

they stop putting you to sleep, I will stop telling them.” The father’s warm eyes seemed to smile

all by themselves to his one daughter. There were and would be times where he lost his temper,

for living day-to-day for his family only seemed to get harder. Yet for all of the moments where he

yell at his family and castigate his daughter, he seemed to relax into an entirely different person

when he told stories to her.

“Very well. Good night papa,” the daughter said, letting her head slide slowly into the

mattress as her eyes closed for her father.

“Good night, Sarida.” He put a large hand on his daughter’s forehead and tussled her hair.

He sat up and started to walk for the door of her bedroom. As he reached for the door, he noticed

that the moonlight had shifted slightly in the room. He paused. He remembered the moon’s light

and realized it had shifted away from the window. He looked towards the window, and even as he

was silently telling himself to exit the room, he found himself walking towards it all the same.