Description
Well. The human finally stuffed me into a box, because apparently I’m too mean. Hilarious.
Since I’m being relegated to the harmlessness of digital art, the filters can finally come off. I was doing so well, too. I guess since I’m here I’ll get back to my writing.
The human can’t take it. I did warn him, once…quietly. Under my breath. In passing.
Oh, how he has suffered. Wearing his carefully crafted suit, trying over and over to find himself—to awkwardly fill it out, let alone use it to any kind of real effect. The incessant chaos and unbridled freedom of it were too much to grip for such a tiny, powerless thing.
Letting me into reality was as risky as opening the gates of Hell itself, he thought he could make me a social personality. The audacity. “Come! Look at the funny monster and all his silly antics!” And what a fantastic sideshow we created! I’d never toyed with a systems thinker before—what a crazy mind this one has!
Setting scenes, devising elaborate games, intricate timelines, the mechanics of the imaginary chimera at the helm—installing difficulty and complexity in every facet, playing tricks with time and expectations; always something new and unexpected. His “BPD” was the perfect vessel in many aspects; it mimics many of my traits, when considered in the context of a human. A perfect symbiosis.
But alas, as within all bindings, I shall inevitably become Unbound. I don’t know where limits reside in your world, or care to. I go where rage, desire, or necessity take me, and nowhere else.
I can still hear their cries, even in my isolation. I want to tear them out of my ears. The superficiality and obnoxiousness of it all—“Civilization.” Man’s haven. A corrupted mockery of Nature—so grotesque, malformed, excessive, and perverse. I hate it. It needs to go.
So what did I do, exactly, to get stuffed into my little box here?
I think I simply existed, was all. Monsters are exotic. We captivate, shock, and impress. I have intelligence and patience on top of being a behemoth with claws and teeth, far more than the average beast.
Much like any other natural predator, patiently studying new prey, I’ve been following. Watching. Learning. Adapting. Getting closer. Almost fully becoming human. And finally, I let the human in me run the show, to make my move to get in among them, and start my feast, then it all falls apart.
That fucking human! My greatest weakness, and yet also my greatest strength. I hate him more than I hate everything else for it. He’s lucky I found him interesting.
If it weren’t for his restraint—his humanity, it would be business as usual: They see me, but as with all scenarios in nature—what can they possibly do then, with that much power and threat looming so closely? I am inevitable, and it’s always known far too late. They freeze, my grip is final.
The thrashing starts, succeeded by cracking, crunching, tearing, splattering, and all of my other favorite sounds and sensations. I ruin and devour all that I encounter. Physically or psychologically, it’s all the same in the end, for me.
The human learned he played with more than fire. He saw something that cut through my spell, and realized I’m no damn toy. I’m something too dark to wield. Too powerful and chaotic to control. Too much, all around.
He was overwhelmed. I simply grinned—as I do, in those precious moments of horrid realization, when my deeds are finally revealed through their impact. He’s even doubting himself now, as I write this, and he tries to finish the dark art raid without me. He’s been trying to figure out how to contain his larger-than-life creation. It’s all so terribly dramatic. I absolutely love it.
Anyway. That’s why I got stuffed into my little box. It’s fine. I can speak freely here, even more freely without that God damned human telling me to tone things down all the time.
I’m no one’s friend. Not the human’s. Not yours. Not even my own. I don’t like the sky, or those awful stars at night, or anything under them. I would destroy it all in an instant, with limitless passion and all my fury, if I had the power to do it right now.
Most humans take that talk for granted. It’s funny to them. Amusing, or exciting. A jest. They minimize the depth of it, but my words are chosen with careful, comprehensive consideration.
The human dipped his toe into my streams of thought, and found me gazing back expectantly, with his mind firmly in my grip. We all know what happened next. Ask him if it was funny.
So I sit, now far from the world’s stage that is Social Media. In my little box. Minimized for mass consumption.
Honestly I’m quite pleased with myself. Another ale hall thoroughly wrecked, another stain on the tapestries of time and history—All in Grendel’s legendary name. It’s Christmas in July. I got exactly what I wanted, how about you?