Spoiler! :
How could we ever be fine being alone, they ask us. They don’t understand us, do they? No, they don’t. They don’t see the voices, hear the voices, know the voices like we do. They scoff—Ha!—and laugh—Baah!—and mock—Raagh!—but they’ll see. Oh, they’ll see.
We sit by ourselves and drink our fish, eat our pond, and be merry, all by ourselves. We are grown, you see, grown stronger by the day, thronged by the voices that we hear, and they envy us. They have nothing like we do, and they are so alone, cowering together, pretending they’re not. But they are. We see it. We feel it. We know it.
We bathe in the shadows, watching them, as they scuttle by in the cold sunlight. They lie to themselves, wagging their heads and shaking their hands, saying the sun keeps them warm. But the filthy light kills them, blasts them, sucks them dry. And they embrace it. Stupid! one voice says, and we nod. We know what the wretched pale face does. That’s why we live in the darkness.
The darkness clothes us, feeds us, loves us. It gives our voices bodies. It fills us, makes us whole. They wear their filthy suits and mucky dresses, stomping and tromping and romping like stiff ugly dolls. They hate the dark. They drag us from it, slap their smoggy shirts and shorts on us, clothe us in air and feed us with light. They burn us. They hate us, all the voices scream. And they are right. The voices are always right.
We sit, quiet now, and the voices all muddle together. They fill us with warmth, wrapping us with bright shadows. We snuggle under the covers, embracing the heat. Suddenly one of the stupid pale faces speaks too loudly.
“Hey, John, Tater’s back. Gonna need a hand over here.”
No! They come take us out to cold again! Fight! We stay here. We safe.
The voices erupt in screeches and we grab our head, rocking further into the shadows, away from the floppy gloves reaching for us. One touches us, and a voice shouts Run! Bite! Stay! Hide!
“Noooo!” we groan, shaking our head. Too many voices!
“Come on, Tater. Get out of the dumpster.” They pull and yank at us, stealing our home, snatching our peace.
“No! No, no, no, no, no!” We scratch and claw and kick and scream, fighting for our home. Kill them! Feed them! Love them! Fear them! The voices writhe in pain as they pinch our wrists with their nasty hands.
“Tater, we’ve got to do our job. Get out of the dumpster.”
We lung at them, hissing bug-eyed in their faces. They flinch and drop us on the hard metal. It hurts us, and it throws us onto the cold cement. We scamper away from them, fleeing to shadows, safety. Yes, safety. We’re safe now. Shadows. Darkness.
Warmth.
They plunder our home, robbing us, but leaving us alone at last. Slowly they walk away with our home. Tears spring into our eyes, cold tears, hard tears, nasty tears. Kill them! Flee them! The voices are divided now, some gnashing at them, some scurrying away from them. We rock back and forth as the voices banter back and forth. Kill them! Leave them! Bite them! No! Yes! Noeyaskilcrushidstyanurel…!
The voices swirl angrily with each other, hugging, slashing, kissing, smashing, brushing, clashing.
Then the voices are silent.
Finally, one whispers softly, Cry.
And we do.
We sit by ourselves and drink our fish, eat our pond, and be merry, all by ourselves. We are grown, you see, grown stronger by the day, thronged by the voices that we hear, and they envy us. They have nothing like we do, and they are so alone, cowering together, pretending they’re not. But they are. We see it. We feel it. We know it.
We bathe in the shadows, watching them, as they scuttle by in the cold sunlight. They lie to themselves, wagging their heads and shaking their hands, saying the sun keeps them warm. But the filthy light kills them, blasts them, sucks them dry. And they embrace it. Stupid! one voice says, and we nod. We know what the wretched pale face does. That’s why we live in the darkness.
The darkness clothes us, feeds us, loves us. It gives our voices bodies. It fills us, makes us whole. They wear their filthy suits and mucky dresses, stomping and tromping and romping like stiff ugly dolls. They hate the dark. They drag us from it, slap their smoggy shirts and shorts on us, clothe us in air and feed us with light. They burn us. They hate us, all the voices scream. And they are right. The voices are always right.
We sit, quiet now, and the voices all muddle together. They fill us with warmth, wrapping us with bright shadows. We snuggle under the covers, embracing the heat. Suddenly one of the stupid pale faces speaks too loudly.
“Hey, John, Tater’s back. Gonna need a hand over here.”
No! They come take us out to cold again! Fight! We stay here. We safe.
The voices erupt in screeches and we grab our head, rocking further into the shadows, away from the floppy gloves reaching for us. One touches us, and a voice shouts Run! Bite! Stay! Hide!
“Noooo!” we groan, shaking our head. Too many voices!
“Come on, Tater. Get out of the dumpster.” They pull and yank at us, stealing our home, snatching our peace.
“No! No, no, no, no, no!” We scratch and claw and kick and scream, fighting for our home. Kill them! Feed them! Love them! Fear them! The voices writhe in pain as they pinch our wrists with their nasty hands.
“Tater, we’ve got to do our job. Get out of the dumpster.”
We lung at them, hissing bug-eyed in their faces. They flinch and drop us on the hard metal. It hurts us, and it throws us onto the cold cement. We scamper away from them, fleeing to shadows, safety. Yes, safety. We’re safe now. Shadows. Darkness.
Warmth.
They plunder our home, robbing us, but leaving us alone at last. Slowly they walk away with our home. Tears spring into our eyes, cold tears, hard tears, nasty tears. Kill them! Flee them! The voices are divided now, some gnashing at them, some scurrying away from them. We rock back and forth as the voices banter back and forth. Kill them! Leave them! Bite them! No! Yes! Noeyaskilcrushidstyanurel…!
The voices swirl angrily with each other, hugging, slashing, kissing, smashing, brushing, clashing.
Then the voices are silent.
Finally, one whispers softly, Cry.
And we do.
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