12-05-2021, 03:22 AM
i'm torn from the truth that holds my soul
i'm down in the grave where I belong --
In the time that he had been truly out in the world he had learned a few things.
He had learned that almost no one looked like him.
He had learned that most were afraid of him.
And he had learned that making any kind of meaningful connection was virtually impossible.
Countless times he had debated returning to the depths of the forest. He had assumed it was where he was meant to be, that he was not meant to mingle with those that viewed him as only a predator. He cannot say he blames them, when for the most part the only experience anyone had with the xenomorphs was at the hands of his mother, and she was not exactly a conversationalist to put it lightly.
Still, he does not run.
He continues to tentatively press himself into their world, seeking cautious acceptance wherever he might find it. He was better at speaking now, although he still did not know all the right sounds to make and certain thoughts were far more difficult to shape into words. For the most part he was able to curb any desire to hunt equines by focusing on smaller game and the occasional deer when the craving truly struck him, and in doing so it was easier to squash the urge to chase should he startle someone into running.
He hated that the instinct was even there at all, and he tries not to think of what will happen should the day come that he slips up.
Walking careful along a worn forest path now he keeps a careful watch for anyone nearby, feeling apprehensive today and not entirely sure if he wants to force his way into conversation.
But he catches sight of her through the nearly skeletal trees, and he finds himself suddenly frozen.
There are differences, of course, but she looks so much like him that he is awestruck. The same black armored body with the knife-tipped tail, and even galaxy-coloring on her chest. Her wings are different—bony and black—and so are her horns, but there is no mistaking what she is.
He does not even realize that he has already approached, ignorant and bold in his wonder and confusion, and soon he is stupidly telling her, “You look like me.”
i'm down in the grave where I belong --
In the time that he had been truly out in the world he had learned a few things.
He had learned that almost no one looked like him.
He had learned that most were afraid of him.
And he had learned that making any kind of meaningful connection was virtually impossible.
Countless times he had debated returning to the depths of the forest. He had assumed it was where he was meant to be, that he was not meant to mingle with those that viewed him as only a predator. He cannot say he blames them, when for the most part the only experience anyone had with the xenomorphs was at the hands of his mother, and she was not exactly a conversationalist to put it lightly.
Still, he does not run.
He continues to tentatively press himself into their world, seeking cautious acceptance wherever he might find it. He was better at speaking now, although he still did not know all the right sounds to make and certain thoughts were far more difficult to shape into words. For the most part he was able to curb any desire to hunt equines by focusing on smaller game and the occasional deer when the craving truly struck him, and in doing so it was easier to squash the urge to chase should he startle someone into running.
He hated that the instinct was even there at all, and he tries not to think of what will happen should the day come that he slips up.
Walking careful along a worn forest path now he keeps a careful watch for anyone nearby, feeling apprehensive today and not entirely sure if he wants to force his way into conversation.
But he catches sight of her through the nearly skeletal trees, and he finds himself suddenly frozen.
There are differences, of course, but she looks so much like him that he is awestruck. The same black armored body with the knife-tipped tail, and even galaxy-coloring on her chest. Her wings are different—bony and black—and so are her horns, but there is no mistaking what she is.
He does not even realize that he has already approached, ignorant and bold in his wonder and confusion, and soon he is stupidly telling her, “You look like me.”
-- f r e t
@Derelict