Ceahorse
11-30-2006, 12:53 PM
Looking down.
He sent his touch into the pile of scurrying black dots. They all looked so similar to him. One was just as important as the other, to him. He succeeded in trapping one between the solid, unmoving ground and the immense crushing force. He watched as the helpless lay under his power, feeble, but also aware of the impeding doom. It never failed to fill him with pleasure when he was given the opportunity to invoke his power on the much smaller and weaker species that were to be found.
“Why did it not attempt to fight back? Why did it attempt no escape? It just sat there waiting for the darkness to overwhelm it. What was different about this one? Usually they would bite out, in an attempt to cause recoil, or, at the very least, pointlessly squirm with the hopes of reclaiming the misguided freedom.” Some, in the past, were even able to find an escape and become lost in the crowds that always surrounded and engulfed them like a drop falling into a pool. Unfortunately in this particular case, his hold held fast, even as there were no attempts to escape.
Those that were in the immediate surrounding appeared to notice the tragedy but offered not a single grasp of help. They, seemingly, simply took a survey and adjusted their route to avoid contact with the foreign tower.
He wondered, “Do the ones that see it, remember it? Do they even have memories? Are they aware of what a memory is and how to use it to learn?” It seemed to him that they didn’t, because every time he crushed one they were always there to be crushed again, the next time his fancy arose.
He’d been told many times to give up these juvenile foolings, with threats even, but he never heeded them. After all, he was doing what he wanted, liked, enjoyed and felt was his purpose.
“If I don’t crush them, keep their population down, who will? And then what, perhaps they may rise to see things as we do, and take what is ours by sheer numbers alone.”
Although the ludicrous nature of this excuse kept him from ever using it as a defence, it did conveniently, at times, offer him peace of mind.
His thoughts wandered back to the present prey. “Where has the pleasure gone from my sport? If they all turn out to be such deadbeats, perhaps I may have to quit my past time and seek some “higher” purpose.” Reluctantly he released, against all his thoughts of simply ending this one quickly and seeking a new victim.
Almost instantly, it was gone, back into the stream of dark dots. He tried to follow it, find it, but it was futile. Then it dawned on him, he’d been duped, played the fool, tricked by an insignificant form of life. Whether or not it understood emotions was irrelevant, but it had used his feelings of pity, of boredom, of thirst for power, and superiority against him.
“How could it have known?”
“It can’t possibility grasp the complexities that divide us and them, but still it had found a way to survive. A way to fight back in the only way it could.”
Acceptance was the weapon that won. It had realized that looking up and looking ahead were of no use. To simply be was all that mattered. Rebellion, was futile, begging was futile, even hoping was futile. In fact, they were actually what usually caused the end to come.
He looked down at the crowd, still in motion, and realized
“That one was lucky. It couldn’t possibly have understood such complex concepts. Maybe it was old, it their age, and ready for what I was giving it”
“But why did it flee when the opportunity was given?”
“Perhaps it was tired from a long day of toil and didn’t have the energy to fight or beg.”
“It sure looked energetic when I lifted my finger.”
Then he realized that trying to figure that one out was pointless, for he had no way of confirming any theories. The one could never be located; even still, there was no way to communicate.
So he settled on the theory that it was luck and nothing more.
This account, putting his mind back at ease, was what initiated him to rise from his crouched over position, turn and begin the departure.
Then a thought brought him to a full stop. He turned, re-crouched over his specimen, extended and pressed down into the multitude.
“These petty beings will remain my toys, my pets, remain under my will.” He shouted to himself as he pinned a fresh victim.
Shock filled his being as it sat, attemping no fight or begs, waiting for what did come, but which was fueled with anger, its doom.
He sent his touch into the pile of scurrying black dots. They all looked so similar to him. One was just as important as the other, to him. He succeeded in trapping one between the solid, unmoving ground and the immense crushing force. He watched as the helpless lay under his power, feeble, but also aware of the impeding doom. It never failed to fill him with pleasure when he was given the opportunity to invoke his power on the much smaller and weaker species that were to be found.
“Why did it not attempt to fight back? Why did it attempt no escape? It just sat there waiting for the darkness to overwhelm it. What was different about this one? Usually they would bite out, in an attempt to cause recoil, or, at the very least, pointlessly squirm with the hopes of reclaiming the misguided freedom.” Some, in the past, were even able to find an escape and become lost in the crowds that always surrounded and engulfed them like a drop falling into a pool. Unfortunately in this particular case, his hold held fast, even as there were no attempts to escape.
Those that were in the immediate surrounding appeared to notice the tragedy but offered not a single grasp of help. They, seemingly, simply took a survey and adjusted their route to avoid contact with the foreign tower.
He wondered, “Do the ones that see it, remember it? Do they even have memories? Are they aware of what a memory is and how to use it to learn?” It seemed to him that they didn’t, because every time he crushed one they were always there to be crushed again, the next time his fancy arose.
He’d been told many times to give up these juvenile foolings, with threats even, but he never heeded them. After all, he was doing what he wanted, liked, enjoyed and felt was his purpose.
“If I don’t crush them, keep their population down, who will? And then what, perhaps they may rise to see things as we do, and take what is ours by sheer numbers alone.”
Although the ludicrous nature of this excuse kept him from ever using it as a defence, it did conveniently, at times, offer him peace of mind.
His thoughts wandered back to the present prey. “Where has the pleasure gone from my sport? If they all turn out to be such deadbeats, perhaps I may have to quit my past time and seek some “higher” purpose.” Reluctantly he released, against all his thoughts of simply ending this one quickly and seeking a new victim.
Almost instantly, it was gone, back into the stream of dark dots. He tried to follow it, find it, but it was futile. Then it dawned on him, he’d been duped, played the fool, tricked by an insignificant form of life. Whether or not it understood emotions was irrelevant, but it had used his feelings of pity, of boredom, of thirst for power, and superiority against him.
“How could it have known?”
“It can’t possibility grasp the complexities that divide us and them, but still it had found a way to survive. A way to fight back in the only way it could.”
Acceptance was the weapon that won. It had realized that looking up and looking ahead were of no use. To simply be was all that mattered. Rebellion, was futile, begging was futile, even hoping was futile. In fact, they were actually what usually caused the end to come.
He looked down at the crowd, still in motion, and realized
“That one was lucky. It couldn’t possibly have understood such complex concepts. Maybe it was old, it their age, and ready for what I was giving it”
“But why did it flee when the opportunity was given?”
“Perhaps it was tired from a long day of toil and didn’t have the energy to fight or beg.”
“It sure looked energetic when I lifted my finger.”
Then he realized that trying to figure that one out was pointless, for he had no way of confirming any theories. The one could never be located; even still, there was no way to communicate.
So he settled on the theory that it was luck and nothing more.
This account, putting his mind back at ease, was what initiated him to rise from his crouched over position, turn and begin the departure.
Then a thought brought him to a full stop. He turned, re-crouched over his specimen, extended and pressed down into the multitude.
“These petty beings will remain my toys, my pets, remain under my will.” He shouted to himself as he pinned a fresh victim.
Shock filled his being as it sat, attemping no fight or begs, waiting for what did come, but which was fueled with anger, its doom.