Monday, January 19, 2015

The Gardeners

It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re with us now. We’re safe. We’re not afraid. We trade with Monsters.

Don’t be frightened. They won’t hurt us. Just...keep still. Keep quiet. Smell less. They will make of you food.

We don’t raise them as we would our own. We raise them as one tends a vine. We nibble at its fruit. It sustains us. It shelters. We groom only the finest of the crop to serve us. Some we allow to grow unchecked, become rampant, useless. They kill themselves, and in doing so strengthen the Monsters, and in doing so strengthen us.

They’re fearsome. They are deadly. We aren’t, so we have become accustomed to them. Our homes are the horrors, and few dare creep in to challenge us. There are always bigger monsters, of course. There are always better and wiser Gardeners.

It is not much of a life, making your life theirs. There is a security, and there is dignity in security. In cleverness. But we are not free. We are tethered to the world by our Responsibilities. We dare not abandon our gardens lest they grow so gnarled and wayward that we are strangled. That everything is strangled.

Our Songs are soothing. Our Songs are whispers. The Wind is always with us, for we know a beauty of hers which no Kind else do. But we are not her favored, no.

We have no riches. We have nothing but what we take, what we steal, the shade and tremble of others, louder voices which Eater heeds better than our own. We have nothing to offer him except challenge, for we do have foresight.

We are not strong.
Our Songs are soft.
Our food is humble.
We are not free.
Our lives are fated brief


We have invented Friends.