The little boy fell into the lion pit. It took fourteen personnel two-and-a-half hours to bait and sedate the pride before they could extract the unconscious child and fly him to the hospital. His mother calls on the anniversary of the fall, asking him how things are, and he recites in even tones how he rarely notices the scars, how he remembers nothing, which is the truth. He hears her own scars pulsate her voice, their breath inside her breath, before his daughter grabs the phone, telling Grandma about her field trip to the zoo.



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