A while back, life was simple. For many years we took what we needed from the swamp and harvested the chosen biped children once a year. But then, they got angry. The offerings of the young stopped, and we were overthrown. We could not get close enough to fight them. Ours had grown fat and slow, thus unprepared to defend ourselves. We had ruled by fear, but when the fear was gone our ownership followed.
Is it terrible I don't miss them?
Then, their village grew. Without the restraint of my species, it began to thrive and move out of the swamp. Huts turned to houses, and then they expanded rapidly into a metropolis on the outskirts of the wetlands. As far as I understand the wetlands are protected for serving as the birthplace of the city. But mainly I suspect because they cannot build their skyscrapers and big buildings in such a place. But what do I know.
My species soon went extinct. We weren't the most sociable group to begin with but we had been able to unite for the common goal of raising our livestock. With out that we began to maim and consume one another for food, and I am living (or rather not) testament of it. Unfortunately I guess we weren't a very nutritious bunch, because the ones that were not eaten did not last long.
I was eaten. I was weak. Yup. And yet I am still here. I think my plant based structure was able to re-grow the rest of me. And for all I know, I am the last one left. Ignorant gluttons. I hope they aren't alive. I hated the lot of 'em. But what matters is that I am still here. And all it cost me was being eaten once. Hardly a terrible price to pay to be able to eat again.
I still live in the swamp. It has become mainly a tourist attraction now, but the passing tourists are just a minor nuisance. The trash they leave behind is the worst though. I am also a 'tourist' of their home land. I have gone to the city many times, it is a vast heck hole where everything goes incomprehensibly fast and lights burn into my retinas. Oh and the lights, they are so fake. Like a lie. The air there is unclean and the people do not respect each other or me. I remember when my people were respected. It was a better time.
And I will admit I am not the smartest creature ever to be born of the Earth, in fact far from it. But I do have amazing common sense and perception to compensate, as most less-evolved creatures do. I do not, however, give off the same sensation as normal people do.
When I go to the city I may look like everyone else while I am clearly not. People turn and stare, with out fully knowing why. I try to divert their attention. I try to walk faster, hide in allies, duck around trees. I blend in physically, but I stand out so much. It is a strange thing to explain.
Another thing of interest would be the fact I can also mold myself into a biped. Obviously I do not go to a hugely inhabited place looking like a plant monster. That would be ignorant. I would be led to guess my changing has something to do with my plant-like composition as well, but I am not really sure. It is just something I do. I would rather not have to change my form, but I need to in order to fulfill my need of children's flesh. It is a morbid addiction that can't seem to be cured. But I don't want to be cured. Have you ever tasted children?
I only need to feed every few months, but I think it is still too often. I have to go through a lot of trouble to get a child to consume. Do not worry, I do not kill children. I dig up fresh graves instead. I am to slow to catch even a child. So I guess living next to such a large city has an upside; there is no shortage of the newly deceased. I can smell them all the time. It is wonderful. But I will digress.
Even beasts such as I can have emotional bonds. Mine happens to be with a small nimmo, scarcely the size of the palm of your hand. Ours is a mother son relationship. Dumpul seems to be a juvenile, but I am not exactly sure of his age. And though he seldom speaks to me I know he thanks me for my company. He normally stays on my back or in a cypress tree with a small baby sock he filled with moss. I do not tell him many things in fear of ruining his innocence. He knows nothing of the small sock's origin. My intention is for him to never find out.
