Captured

Tricks. That’s what they all want to see. Jumps through hoops. Balancing a ball on the tip of the nose. Tricks and more tricks.

I’m so tired. This is no life. I have even contemplated ending my life, but I lack the means to do it. Yes, it sounds drastic, but life in captivity is unbearable when you have tasted freedom.

My life was not always like this. I used to roam the oceans of the world free from restraints. I followed the currents and the seasons and knew the coastlines of all the continents.

Until one day I was caught. Trapped inside a metal construction. I trashed against the metal bars until I ached and bled. Exhausted, I floated to the bottom of the cage, thinking my time had come and then I was hauled out of the water. Out of my environment, away from my family and friends. Away from everything dear and familiar to me.

My captors hauled me onto a rickety old boat. And I remembered. I remembered the stories my parents had told me when I was young. Stories I had believed they invented to scare us, youngsters, not to stray too far from the group. Yet, here I was, in a cage, on a boat, being taken to who knew where.

I thought my time had come as I watched the men on the boat congratulate each other. They laughed, pointing at me, powerless against all their machinery and weaponry. I thought my time had come and prayed for it to be quick and painless. But they hadn’t captured me to kill me. My destiny was not to be dinner, but a clown.

For they brought me here. After a few days on the boat, I realised they would not kill me. They looked after me well. Fed me all my favourite foods and made sure the water I was in was just right. They were contracted to capture me, or one of my kind, and bring me here, this circus they call an aquarium.

When I saw my new home, as they called it, I thought I would have been better dead. Destined to live in a 20 by 10 rectangular box is not a life for a creature that is used to roaming the oceans from pole to pole. Nor is having dozens upon dozens of people coming and just staring at you through the glass.

Sometimes, just sometimes, I see compassion in their eyes. They look at me, knowing that what they are doing is wrong. Keeping us captive when we ought to be free. A lifetime in prison, that’s the sentence given to hardened criminals and murderers. I have committed no crimes or murders, yet here I am, imprisoned for life with no chance of parole.

Yes, some look at me with compassion, but all I see from most is curiosity and pride. Yes, pride. Seeing me in my rectangular cell with no means to escape fills them with pride and a sense of power.

But capturing me, and the rest of us doesn’t make them powerful. It means they are misguided in how they use their power over others defenceless against them. It shows their lack of empathy towards other living beings. Towards this beautiful planet of ours.

For I have seen the damage they are doing. My years of living free in the oceans showed me the damage. Year by year, we saw more of our favourite habitats polluted or disappear. We saw our food supply diminish and fellow sea creatures trapped and choking in plastic. Knowing this, it didn’t surprise me that seeing a creature like me captured and powerless made them proud and powerful.

They think they are powerful and free. But they are neither. Where is the power in taking me and my kind out of our natural habitat and imprisoning us?

And freedom, how many of those who flock to see us are actually free? They may think they are, but they are held captive by mortgages, debts, and nine-to-five jobs they hate, but see no alternative to. That is not freedom. Although, I guess, compared to me, they are relatively free.

But, I soon discovered, being stared at wasn’t the worst of it. They gave me a few days to “settle in”. Then the training began, and I met my fellow inmates. We were made to learn tricks to perform for the visitors to the aquarium.

How humiliating!

At first, I refused. But they prodded me with a stick that sent an unpleasant, painful sensation across my spine from head to tail. The others, who had been here longer than I had, advised me to give in. And ultimately, I did.

Defeated, heartbroken, and humiliated I gave in. I jumped through the hoops with others in synchronised formations, balanced and bounced the ball on my nose, and we received raving reviews for our acrobatics. Or the trainers did. They were commended for the incredible tricks they had taught us to perform. Yet, the tricks here are nothing compared to the leaps and twists I used to do out of sheer joy when my friends and I swam freely in the ocean.

To be honest, life here is not that bad. Our captors look after us well. There is plenty of food and the water is clean and free of plastic. Yet, my every cell yearns for freedom. To smell the fresh ocean breeze again, to mingle with the multitude of creatures that inhabit the wild oceans. To see my family and friends again.

The others don’t get my desperate wish to be out of here. They were born and bred in captivity, so this life is as good as it gets for them. I feel so sorry for them because they have never experienced the thrill of freedom. Although, they are happier than I am because they have no comparison. Some days I wish I had nothing to compare this life to.

But more than anything, I wish to be free. Or dead, which would mean freedom from the daily humiliation of the aquarium. But more than dead, I want to be free.

I have understood, from snippets of conversations, that I am like someone they call Willy. And this Willy was freed. He was like me until some kind souls set him free. I also know that he was fictional. That the real Willy is still somewhere performing tricks for the tourists and cameras, just like me.

But it doesn’t stop me from falling asleep every night, hoping to be the Free Willy of the real world. Dreaming that someday I will be free. My hope is tiny, but it is rebellious. In my darkest hours, I hold on to that hope. It keeps me going. My rebellious hope.