01-13-2016, 10:26 AM
what turns up in the dark
It cannot comprehend their world, their strange culture. It lives on instinct, on a reptilian hindbrain. There are forays into their language, soft mushy attempts that end with frustration and a longing for the shrill chirps it was bred – made? – to have.
But it does not need to comprehend their world. Lions do not contemplate zebras or gazelles, wolves do not contemplate bison – and nor does (should) it contemplate their world and the things it might encompass.
Yet.
Yet it finds itself curious, sometimes. It finds itself with meat in front of its hungry jaws, trying to make their noises, saying pack rather than family because pack was so much easier on the tongue and on the mind.
Do you want a pack? the she-meat says, and it isn’t sure. It is not supposed to be a pack creature, but it is not supposed to be alone, either.
It is a creature of in-betweens – in between the meat and the monsters; in between packs and solitude.
“Yesh,” it says, remembering Her, remembering the other creatures, the ones like it.
It contemplates.
“No,” it says. It knows that word. Meat says it, often, screams it.
“Yeshno,” it says. It doesn’t know the word for maybe, or I don’t know.
The she-meat says she doesn’t have a pack. Stupid. Meat should have packs, have protection. Meat alone is singled out, easier to hunt. It wants to tell her this. Why? It should not make it easier for the meat to avoid being hunted.
Regardless, it lacks the words. So instead it tilts its strange head and trills at the she-meat, to see if there’s something there.
CTHULHU
reference here