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Cricket Intentions

She crawls across the floor, her antennae twitching nervously. She knows what she has to do; she knows that she has to go there. The smell of food wafts past her hole, beckoning her to brave the room where the Idiots live. Though she is aware that they hate her and her family, she thinks the mission could still be a success. After all, those humans seem more interested in watching that bizarre, glowing, box-beast than in what goes on in the world of the floor. Squeezing half her body out of the hole, she listens to the racket of the enemy, while the smell of a new kind of food grows ever more potent. Unable to resist, she scuttles out from her humble abode towards the goal. Smoke pours out from a stick the human is holding and she wonders why a creature would ever want to eat something so putrid. The human unexpectedly begins to shake, gurgling at the glowing object, and she freezes with fear. Had it noticed her presence? Could this be a display of threat? Soon, however, the bewildering behaviour ceases, and the Idiot sucks on its smoke-stick again. She can continue her adventure.

Smog swirls above her, illuminated by the groaning, buzzing, flickering square object. It sits on four pillars with snarling self-importance, barking at her, barking at the human. She notices that many more loathsome giants sometimes inhabit the object, but they seem unable to escape to the outside world. She scuttles underneath it, wondering how the Idiots could fit inside such a small square. Should she should take advantage of the situation by exploring the room? Should should keep following that strangely alluring new scent? The humans normally had an irritating tendency to gather in large numbers, but now there was only one human, distracted, alone, and the others were locked inside their flashing box. She dashes past the box-beast and its torturous outbursts, and journeys onwards.

The Idiot vibrates again, the fat on its face slopping up and down in a vaguely musical fashion as it growls at the luminous square cage. She approaches some large, wet, green glass artifacts. Her six legs struggle to carry her through the gluey alcoholic puddles dotted about her feet, but eventually she escapes from the repugnant glass monsters and proceeds towards the food. Glorious, rotten smells throb in the air, encouraging her, summoning her; she knows that a time of bliss could be approaching. The stupid giant is lying down now, saliva dribbling down its mouth, its decayed red eyes beginning to close. The square object still keeps on living, however, throwing its beams of light through the dreary smoke, hissing at her, mocking her. That doesn’t matter anymore, though. She is getting closer and closer to the end – to fresh meat unlike any she has ever consumed before. The object and its inhabitants can spit and snigger all they want.

The rat lies still, its flesh soft and mouldy, an expression of fear smeared across its face. She has found her food, her life, her ecstasy; she only has the maggots to compete with now, and they know that she is sovereign. Her mandibles accelerate towards the insides of the rat, searing into the organs that once kept it alive. Like dolphins at sea, the maggots leap in and out of the body, soaring upwards to the surface for air and then diving straight back into the murky depths of the carcass. She scrambles over the grey, harsh fur of the dead creature, eagerly searching for a new section of stale flesh to dominate. Her wings twinge with elation as she borrows deeper and deeper into her latest prize, her serrated legs scattering the maggots out of her way. This is her paradise, and here she is queen.



    • d3anz
    • Posted March 5, 2009 at 7:22 pm
    • Permalink

    mr. entomologist,

    i have another moment to spare

    i hope you do not find it unnerving that it is a comfort to me you hear creature tales and disputes.

    i overheard my father speaking with our local priest last night – an exortism is thought best, for my benefit. i am still a child and will be ready to bare fruit in the same amount of time as three life cycles of a roach.

    i hope you dont mind me seeking your counsel and friendship. my life here is rather a bore. I spend my mornings dressing before attending reading. Then lunch is served, followed by an afternoon of patchworking. Only once had tea been eventful when sister marcy brought up a “alternaitve” victorian sponge that had been baked with wasps – apparently the cook had poured a bag full of wasps infested sugar, stirred it in and couldnt figure out why there was a crunch to it. oh, my mother had a fight when se realised it wasnt some exotic nut.

    i must end here now. good night, friend.

    • d3anz
    • Posted March 5, 2009 at 7:23 pm
    • Permalink

    sugar infested wasps*

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