Panthers

The giant cats do not respond to her reflective eye makeup and light-catching clothing. Cynthia herself cannot feel her hair burned in straight curtains or her skin sprayed with fine bronze mist. But they raise their noses at her, sniff and become bored. She lifts her arm to her nose, her skin smells as it always has.

The panthers prowl on the white floor, black fur shedding and pelt gleaming in the lights. Cynthia watches their pupils grow to black pools, and then shrink until their eyes are jaundiced orbs. She poses a thousand ways. Draped over the creatures, cowering from them, morphing her expression but keeping her eyes on their listless ones. She tries to prowl with them, mimicking the smooth ripple from their shoulders to their paws and the sway of their head. The photographer follows her but she follows the panthers.

The set ends. There will be no more animals now, someone says as the panthers are rounded up. They return to their cages and she returns to hers.  

Art from Q Magazine 2009

Text by Lucie MacAulay