It never knew when ‘it’ was born, crossing from liquid to solid states in the form of a small tadpole. Wielding nothing more then a sixth sense of belonging in the body and an instinct to defend it territory from invaders—its home. The creature moved swiftly in its confinements, slow coming to celebrate its birth, one of many distinct to its nature led to seek and destroy. Other joined, wriggling their frail bodies much smaller than it through the designated organ creating lacerations with every straight swim. The tips of their bodies caught on the fragile skin above, hooking it like a fishing bait and leading it afar to tear and bleed nutrients.
For minutes they enjoyed their prison, unable to grasp the concept of another world aside from paradise, which they swam in with determination. Like sharks of kin they took no more than a second glance to one another, ignoring the difference of change and danced together. Rubbing bodies solidly against one another as they plunged in and out of the human tissue, feeding like carnivorous monsters at a feast fit for a lord. In a way ‘it’ could assume it was a lord, retaining memory of being the birth of a beginning.
No, it could not hear and see but instinct of mans creation told it so. As such it acted upon its reasoning’s, increasing its rampant slaughter of its host draining the life force little by little. The smaller versions looked to it as a leader, mimicking the bashings against the enclosed walls keeping it from other vital areas beyond the layers positioned as gates. Angry with this the tadpole dug furiously and hid in the blood, alone. Waiting for the next moment to attack.
Though it had no eyes it sensed the mini ‘its’ growing restless. They swam feverishly against the currents of red fluid, frantic in their sanctuary alarming it to stop and reverse its path to confront this ‘thing’ that dared to intrude. Soon the fluid ceased its rhythmic flows founded only by the constant movement of its brothers and sisters. It lay dormant with the organ moving once again without its consent. Possessing no eye it could not see the fine bits of what once remained drizzling down, nor hear the strangled cries as the babies writhed against mans power and evaporated. The holes previously made to bleed agony were finely stitched together to clot and recover.
It stirred anger in the virus causing it to lurch out of hiding and snap at attention. The gasp from man unlike it was deaf to it—all but the presence of a mightier ‘threat’ that deemed it necessary to destroy its home.
Coming out from the shallow skin a cross of lacerations were made, going unnoticed in its meaning as the ‘thing’ stitched and repaired the wounds faster then it could make them. It burrowed at the sudden p***k of something hot, learning but not able to register it as pain. Fleeing to the safety of its host’s internal organ it swam back and forth in a constantly altered pattern to avoid further hostilities.
If ‘it’ had the ability it may have questioned why its habitat, its existence was damned to never succeed. Where was ‘he’? The man…yes man who bore them. By being created man meant it was no less than a baby and here, living proof, that what man created it destroyed. It fueled the rage of its father continued its efforts, redoubling them. The small manmade creature cried unknowingly, finding voice as something sharp dug it out of the fluids and forced it to run blindly on the surface. In defense it made a deep cut and sought shelter mindlessly.
Another wave of undistinguishable sensations forced it back under. Several times did the process repeat itself, the vicious stabs and sudden unbearable temperatures forcing the creature to remain in the eyes of man. Limply it slowed ever so slowly and curled in on itself giving into what man desire. ‘It’ knew others like it would flourish, that the one whom bore it would never be stopped and with final piercing sound it evaporated at the fine touches of a man weapon.
Kyriaki the first of the lord born to end man from purifying sickness, died.
- Title: Lords Day
- Artist: Jisnair
- Description: (Trauma Center Fanfiction) GUILT. The beginning of lord's day to the final days of their rein. Though they are nothing but mindless tools of destruction, these infections, too, try to survive in a world that detests their very existence. 1/7
- Date: 11/04/2009
- Tags: lords kyriaki traumacenter secondopinion sunday
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