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My drug of choice is writing--writing, art, reading, inspiration, books, creativity, process, craft, blogging, grammar, linguistics, and did I mention writing?

Tuesday, March 21, 2017

They Are Coming

[Just a little something so y'all don't forget about me. I'm a bit better but still pretty jacked. My fever has broken, but there are plenty of symptoms hanging around for the after party and keeping me in bed. 

You can find these sorts of not-quite-their-own-post musings all the time over at my Facebook page (though I warn you, you would also have to put up with my wild  and outspoken social justice side as well). 99% of my posts are public if you just want to follow, but be sure and drop me a short note if you want to be friends so I know you're not a pr0nspam bot or spoiling for a fight.] 

Day 6:

What looked like a verdant utopia for my brethren has become a nightmarish hellscape. I landed in this biome filled with abundance, and few predators, and went forth and multiplied. I watched my descendants spread and grow content. All seemed perfect...almost idyllic.

But something here, something in the landscape itself grew....aware of us. It noticed our presence and did not like what it saw. The temperature rose three degrees overnight, and all the entrances have become death traps that force us into the cold outside, be it by sudden overwhelming gusts of air or sliding, sticky quagmire inexorably pulling them into the frozen outlands. Their screams echo in my ears as they beg me to save them.

And the predators. God the predators. At first just a few barely taking note of us, but as the temperature rose they grew ever more violent. Feasting on my kin's flesh, driving us back. Relentless. Now, not only are they more numerous, but they're getting better. Better at killing us.

The food is exhausted. Now we are the food. I have brought my people only death. I hear the drums in the deep.

A shadow moves in the dark. They are coming.

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