So this sheep was there at the foot of the office building, its leg folded at a strange angle, and it seemed, well, it seemed as if it had jumped. This was an unusual case, obviously, but forensics did their job and found the hoof marks on the window. There little bits of wool on the broken glass. Witnesses said the animal had seemed determined. It had run straight at the double-glazing while the other office workers watched frozen, cups and bagels still halfway to their mouths, fingers poised above the keyboard. Obviously motive was difficult to determine, you know, it was a sheep. And as to what it was doing there, nobody knew. Most of the workers had assumed it was a motivational aid brought in by management.
So, we didn’t think of it much until the found the penguin, a week later, at the foot of this other office block. That was the start of the epidemic. All these animals plummeting through the morning air, silently hurtling down. Sidewalks littered with feathers and claws and fur. Managers fearfully scanning the skies from under their briefcases before they rush towards the revolving doors. The wind rushes suddenly through air-conditioned corridors, and paper-weighted printouts whisper and tremble.
And still, nobody knows where the animals come from. They seem to crawl out of the walls.
The Elders say that the animal world is giving up on us. I watch open beaks oozing blood.
Somewhere, a goat falls.