What We Want
They come from the skies, my children tell me. They come riding inside metal beasts, screeching fire from their mouths. They come, and we see, they are simple and weak, unlike the large creatures they ride upon. They come, and provide us as hosts. Then they leave us, back into the skies, bearing our children.
We raise our arched heads upwards, to where our blind, non-existent eyes suppose the sky is. We listened, and in a way see the creatures leave with our children.
Goodbye, little ones, good luck. We say, hoping the best.
Where do they go, my children ask me. And I cannot answer them. I look up to where I suppose the sky is, and I wonder myself, where are you my children? Are you safe? Did you make it? Did you find it easy to burst from your cage inside of the creatures? My children, are you alive? My children, what do you see beyond this place?
We cannot see, we do not own eyes. In a sense we see though, in a way we can sense the world around us. We know when one of us bleeds, or when the day turns to night. We cannot see, but can.
We know of our black skin, and our drooling mouths with the armed tongue. We know of our arched heads, and missing eyes. We know of our claws, and scaled body. We know what we are. We know they are not like us. We know we are different. We know we are monsters.
And yet, those gifted with sight merely see monsters. They do not see what lies inside of us. They do not think of our reasons why we kill them without regard, why we do this to them, why we plague them. They only see monsters that they must run from or kill.
They do not realize the mind inside the eyeless monster.
I can hear my children. I can hear them, how they want to please their mother, how they want to take care of their queen. Protect her everyday, protect me. My children, my beautiful children. I can hear them, because I am the queen. They love me, their mother, and I love them, my children.
No one yet has come to see how I care for them, and they for me. No one has seen us monsters show our other side. It is not all killing, it is not all blood.
We live alone on this planet. This planet always cold, always seeming like night, with clouds thundering above. This planet we were abandoned on, what we are forced to call our home.
It did not used to be this way. We too came from the skies once. But it was different.
How we came to be is different. We were not created by time, evolution. We were created for a specific purpose. Sport. We call them predators, because we are hunted by them. Us, monsters, hunted by equals. They wear metal masks, we know this, they have weapons beyond our talons and tongues. They have no mercy as we cry and beg of them. They have no mercy as I scream for my children.
We were created by them. Born in pools of green water in a creature from the skies. We were born to be hunted by them as a challenge. And when they come to play, we seek revenge. And most of the time, we succeed. And we enjoy it. Kill them, kill them for leaving us here, and killing our brothers and sisters. We show them no mercy as they show to us.
I allow my children to kill them, I only ask of them to allow me to look at the dying predator before its death. I want to see them, fear in their eyes, as we rip their armor away. As we rip their chances of life away. And I roar at them, in a language only my children understand. And I tell them, hoping one day they will know what I am saying:
"This is for the dead you have created. Your blood will bathe you in revenge for the losses we have endured. Your screams will be music for the mourning of the bodies. You death will release their souls!"
The creature does not understand, and only roars back, opening its mouth with claws. Then we watch as he realizes he will not return to his home, where ever that may lie in the skies. We watch as he struggles, and frails, screaming for the mercy he never gave us. Then we kill him. And my children celebrate.
Then they send more predators to come and hunt us. And they kill many.
We cry.
We do not want our lives to be like this. The children I give birth to, do not deserve this. I am the queen, and I listen to them all throughout this planet. One mind, one hive all over this dark place. We do not want to be blinded with no eyes forever. We do not want to stay here in this dark place, we are forced to call a home. We do not want to never know what is beyond the sky.
We want to be able to call our home a home. We do not want to be hunted. We do not want to be considered monsters! Monsters they yell! Monsters in the night, and no one will come, because no one hears their screams! No one hears ours either! We are not monsters! We are not creatures that only think of killing!
We want to live!
But as we scream to the skies for someone to help us. No one replies, for our screams seem like roars of monsters.
We are a hive, and all we have here on this dark place our each other.
"Mother, what is wrong?" My child asks me.
But I do not answer.
For decades I have been the queen. For decades I have watched my children, in all their care, dying for me. For decades we have done nothing but try to survive the next coming of the predators.
And the people that come to our home, our dark place wonder why we kill them with no mercy. We have to. If we do not we will not feed. If we do not feed we are forced to kill each other. And as they scream, and beg for mercy, we have learned from the predators to drain the screams out. We have learned to feed on that fear.
We have to kill them. We have to.
Somewhere out in the skies, the creatures we kill have a home. They are not created, born to be killed. They are not made. They are born, and they live. Somewhere they have a home, and they are free. Somewhere, the creatures we kill have so much more than us.
And as I stare at the lifeless body of another creature we kill, as I stare and feel the blood on my claws, I lower my head.
"I am sorry." I say.
"Forgive us."
"Forgive us."
"Forgive us." The children beg.
And the lifeless body says nothing.
As we walk away from the body, for the weak to feast upon it, we know it is the only way.
We are saddened and disgusted to know, we like the killing. Perhaps something we learned from the predators, perhaps something they designed us with. But as we scream at our prey, our only hope to survive another day, we are happy. We like it as the blood stains our claws, we like the red color the blood comes in most of the time. The screams that come from the dying creature, music to our unknown ears. We enjoy it when a child is born, and bursts from the cage that is the creature's chest. We enjoy seeing the fear in the creature's eyes, as they realize they are going to die.
We enjoy it. I can hear my children laugh as if they were playing when they are killing. Sometimes they even toy with the creature before death.
We do not like the fact we enjoy killing, as if we were the predators that hunt us. But it is one of the few things we take pleasure from, and we must accept that. It is part of us, rather we like it or not, we were designed to kill and be killed, and we do.
The only hope we have to get what we want. To be liberated and obtain freedom from this place, away from the predators. The only hope we have, are our children that make it inside the creatures that leave us.
My children that fly up into the sky, will they return for us? I do not know, I only hope. Maybe we will be forgotten by our children, maybe they will leave us, and go further into the sky. My children gifted with freedom into the sky, away from here, away from predators. My children, I am happy I was able to give you flight.
My children in the sky, I cannot hear you, you are too far from me. My children in the sky, do you think of me, your mother? Children in the sky, will you return for us?
Or have you made homes already? Have you made a hive of your own, away from here, where no one may kill us?
My children in the sky, are you hurt? Has someone else decided to hunt you?
My children in the sky, you are our hope. My children, please be safe. Please be free.
"Mother, will we go to the sky someday?" My child asks.
I look at him, without eyes, and I take a moment to reply.
We do not know how to fly up, we do not know how to leave this place. But we hope.
"Someday..." I say.
"Mother, will we be free?"
Their questions hurt.
"Someday..."
"Mother, will we be safe?"
"Someday..."
"Mother, why are you so sad?"
"Mother, what can we do for you?"
"Mother, it is alright."
"Someday...I will be happy." I tell them.
All we want is freedom. All we need is freedom. Away from the deaths and the killing by our own claws.
Someday we hope, we will not have to kill, and enjoy it. Someday we want to live.