Dragonstone III (368 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.85 on 7 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Anthony Locascio (View user info) at 2007-03-21 01:37:08 EDT
Know that I have awoken, and despair.
There is pain, once again. I have not missed it, I will admit, but neither do I fear its return. That, of all, was part of my long sleep that I have not minded - a release from the pain that I remember. And the dreams of course. I will miss them, the dreams. In the dreams I live without pain. In my dreams I am young again, but young without the horrors of youth. I am free, open to the blue sky, feeling the stretch and flex of muscle on bone. In those dreams, I could revel only in power, without the necessity of the killing. But that, then, is how I always knew my dreams were just that - the fantasy of a mind long at rest and unchained from body and flesh. I have returned, and the killing will return, for that has forever been my charge.
I was birthed in blood, not moments after I tasted the air. There is nothing, nothing at all that I can think of more indicative of the weakness of those that walk above me than the manner in which they are birthed. From the very moment of their inception, they are defenseless, swaddled in womb of warmth and protection. Indeed, the every notion of their filthy progenitors lies in their creation, which will leach and suck off of the one who carries it for nearly a year, and then continue to do so even after being brought into the light. Could any race of weaklings have their shortcomings laid bare so early?
I, on the other hand, was thrust into the light without pity, without mercy. I was killing moments after I arrived. The first lives I took were the lives of my own kind, three of my siblings. Brothers? Sisters? I could not tell, cannot remember, and no longer cared. They would have killed me if they could, but I instead reigned supreme. It is not uncommon that the strongest will be killed - the younger siblings will join forces against the strongest and fight. In this way, a balance of strength and cunning is preserved. But not in me. I have no room for wiles, trickery, or deception. Instead I rose up and struck all three of them down, watered the gold under their feet with their blood, listened to their last gasps. Who were they to share my air? My food? The warmth of our lair? What did they offer me in return, except their treachery and murder? Die, then, I say, and begone.
There was the other. I don't remember him. Or her. Or it. Whatever. I remember him watching me. He made no move against me, sat apart from the others quietly and watched. I hated him the most for that. He sat and watched while I killed them. One of the others, the weaker ones, it came for him, thinking him weak. It lashed out at him, cut open his belly badly and sent him skittering away, whining. He could have killed it easily enough, but instead he slunk into the darkness and curled up on the stones there, watching me. Then the others came for me, and he did nothing.
I cannot blame him for not aiding me. Even if we had been victorious, I would have turned on him immediately afterwards. He must have known that. Or he could have aided them. They were weaker than he, but he could have used that to his advantage. Or he could simply have finished me off after I defeated them. I was wounded and weakened and he was fresh. He could have killed me easily enough. Instead, he simply stayed on his rock and watched. I hated him for that more than anything.
What is opportunity, if it is wasted? Or was it weakness that he enjoyed? Did he enjoy the power that he had over me in those moments? Watching me lick my wounds and wait for him to leave the rock? Or fear, perhaps? I would have gutted him, gouged him, given him a hundred times what I had the first three before I bled my last. I wonder at this, if it was just fear that kept him at bay, fear at seeing what I had done to his siblings. I am strong, but I am not a fool. I think this is not the reason.
Pity. That is what I remember. The very thought of it sets my insides on fire. There had been pity in his eyes, I think. I think. It has been so long, and there are things I have forgotten because they were unworthy of my mind. But I think I remember that, pity. For me! The fool! I wished, some days in the throes of my sleep, that I would come upon him again. I would show him the meaning of pity and its end. I would make him weep at his fate, shred him open and watch him twitch in his entrails. Now, because of his pity, I live still. I am strong, and I kill at will.
Or I should say killed. I have slept long, and the pain is great in my joints, which have settled comfortably over time. They will have to learn. The muscle that surrounds them has missed the flex of arm, wing, tail. It yearns to stretch to its full length. I do not fear pain, but I dare not yet. I must wait, shift slightly, let them extend themselves slowly. My mind is awake, but much of my body still slumbers restlessly. It matters not, I am in no danger. Were any of a threat to me, I would have died long before now. I stir again, and soon, I will be free once more. I do not wish to linger, but waiting for a torn muscle to heal would delay me further still.
I lay here with my thoughts to keep me company, as they always have, for there is no mind I have known that is my own equal, and so I am content. Sleep has, I admit, agreed with me. In the days that I have laid here, stretching out and shaking the dust of years gone by off, I considered many times simply returning to my rest. It was quiet here, and it could be again. With the slightest of effort, I could make this sanctuary secure again, to the horror of those that have intruded, no doubt. But I cannot do that. There is blood that must be spilled, and I intend to see it done.
I remember, once, as I flew, watching the animals of the Frozen Forest flee in great numbers. I thought that a great predator must be following in their wake, driving them before it. Even the great cats, the bears, and a griffin made way. I was so young then, brash, powerful. I swooped down, that I might see what creature it was, so I could kill it, and let the animals of the Frozen Forest know who was the supreme creature to be feared. What I saw, I shall never forget, for the specter of that memory haunts the Overworld and taints all that I know.
A great column of ants made its way through the trees. Nearly half as wide as I, and longer still, it moved through the landscape, devouring all that was too slow to escape. I watched them fall upon frogs, rabbits, even a wolf that was lame and unable to outrun the advancing horde. Wherever they went, the land fled before it. Whatever did not flee was cut down and eaten. They were monstrous creatures individually, covered in velvet fur and sporting tiny pincers that stripped flesh from bone. Each as small as a pebble, yet as a mass, all the predators of the forest gave way before it. The huge and powerful fled, because they were many.
I could not have known then, I think, and yet I must have known, that I was seeing my own future. I was watching this force usurp the natural order, sending the mighty running in its path, all because they were many, and they were hungry. I was enraged. They were nothing, individually. Each was a speck, an insect, a creature of the ground. The birds, the reptiles, the scavengers would feast on them. The fall of a stone would crush them, the wash of rain or the baking sun would destroy them. Only because they were many were they feared. Only because they were many, and yet each alone was nothing compared to those that fled before it.
I destroyed them all, baked them in fire. No creature would flee before the swarm, the ever-consuming, ever-hungry swarm of nothing. And yet it would happen again. Only this time, the swarm was even more putrid, more weak, more unworthy. Those, the womb-bearers, have sent the predators of the world into the deep places of the earth. They are many, and they think that makes them as the ants - to steal and kill not because they are strong, but because they are many.
Know this, bearers of the womb. I will kill you all. I will immerse your world in fire, as I did those ants. I will feast on you until you are no longer many, because it is only the many that have allowed you your place in the world. But your many will be your undoing. For each of you shall nourish me. I will chew on you leisurely, bearers of the womb. I will burn you off the face of the earth, and the predators of the land, those that have fled before you, or fallen victory to your trickery, will return to their rightful places in the world. You are many, but soon you will be few.
I think of this much, as I lay and stretch. I think of it much, and I do not return to my sleep. There is a feast awaiting me, and before all is over, I shall eat well.
User Reviews
Submitted by Benny (user info) at 2007-05-28 21:55:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This instalment reminds me of a movie called Reign of Fire.
Submitted by Zebra (user info) at 2007-03-21 15:30:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by TheUniter (user info) at 2007-03-21 13:54:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2007-03-21 10:26:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
"They are many, and they think that makes them as the ants - to steal and kill not because they are strong, but because they are many."
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You're talking about Republicans here aren't you?
Submitted by rorrim (user info) at 2007-03-21 06:16:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Retaliatory alter rating .
Submitted by messmind (user info) at 2007-03-21 04:35:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Greetz ! Damn moose-lims!
Submitted by Mike-Mc (user info) at 2007-03-21 04:20:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
No Comment