The peacock does not know that he struts. He only moves from one point to another.

He is unaware of the connotations of his appearance - pride, dignity, grace - but he knows that he is watched. Every day, as he struggles to survive, he lives in constant anxiety of the strangers who gawk at and accost him. What do they want? Do they smile out of courtesy, or because his presence makes them happy? Do they know he is uncomfortable? Do they take pleasure in his discomfort?

When he speaks, do others laugh because he is funny, or because they feel superior?

Self-aware, the peacock wonders: do peacocks only exist for the amusement of others? Do peacocks have any purpose at all?

The peacock screams, for he does not know.