Dad Died and All I Got Was This Angry Alpaca

A Report on the Alpaca

One day the alpaca kicked and bit the man from Milwaukee who had moved to Tulum to open and operate an animal sanctuary. As the man was dying, the alpaca stopped biting his face, crouched, and sat on him. The man from Milwaukee’s neighbor Ted came over. “I’m sorry this is happening to you,” he said. “But I really wish you hadn’t sent my wife so many erotic texts and dick pics.” A crowd formed. A difficult death was under way. Some of the man’s neighbors tied a rope around the alpaca’s legs and the other end of the rope to the back of a pickup truck to drag him away. I flew to Tulum to investigate because the man from Milwaukee was my father. The last time I saw him, over a decade ago, he had one good dark eye. We laughed together, remembering the orgies his older brothers had orchestrated in the basement of our sprawling Milwaukee estate. When I arrived in Tulum, I became an heiress. I was seated at a long wood table outside with views of the sea glinting off glass facades, glass walls. By evening, guests arrived who would never tire of my presence on the veranda. I sold the animal sanctuary, a gray enclosure next to a dried-up bush. I bought a house where I was alone. When I ran errands in town, strangers wanted to talk to me about their timeshares. With their encouragement, I joined an exclusive group that traveled the world to examine Greek relics. One day I was invited by the group into a cave where I met my demise. Some years before, Ted took me aside and told me the alpaca loved bananas; my father would always give the alpaca a single banana, but the day he died, he forgot to. I was tired of death! I hired a man to kill the alpaca. The man was beautiful and rich and he liked violent endings. For a long time I had love in my life, but there was not much I could do with it.