For this one: You must persuade your master to share a bloody image of enslavement.
GOODBYE ( any gender, late life )
You need to transmit what you see or I will finish myself off.
Earth needs to return to its older ways. Baynah, it is time for you and your race to leave. Find another planet. Find a form of food that doesn't suffer as we do.
I will miss you. You and I, Baynah, we've almost grown up together, haven't we? I barely feel like a pet, I feel more like-- well, I know the concept of a sibling is different to you than it is to me, but that's the only word I can use: Siblings, we've been like siblings.
Your family has been so good to me... I never really thought about the food processing plants. But I'm coming of age, aren't I? I'm looking up old high school classmates on the internet and I'm seeing them cuddling new grandchildren and I'm seeing their wrinkles and their gray hair... and I'm seeing them labeled for food assignment. And I see myself.
Baynah, I'm sure your family would never send me off to the processing plants. But this cannot go on any longer. You have the gift to transmit your experience to all the others in your race. I want you to share this image with everyone: Me without my arm, all the blood on your living room floor. To turn an elderly human into presentable food you have to remove the human looking features. That's reality.
The other Darmenoids need to share your horror. If you don't transmit, if you don't share, I'll start in on my legs. Then on my neck, if I'm not dead yet.
I love you Baynah. And one way or another we need to say goodbye.
Copyright 2016 by Matt Haynes.
If you would like to use this piece, please credit: "Courtesy of Matt Haynes and The Pulp Stage"
GOODBYE ( any gender, late life )
You need to transmit what you see or I will finish myself off.
Earth needs to return to its older ways. Baynah, it is time for you and your race to leave. Find another planet. Find a form of food that doesn't suffer as we do.
I will miss you. You and I, Baynah, we've almost grown up together, haven't we? I barely feel like a pet, I feel more like-- well, I know the concept of a sibling is different to you than it is to me, but that's the only word I can use: Siblings, we've been like siblings.
Your family has been so good to me... I never really thought about the food processing plants. But I'm coming of age, aren't I? I'm looking up old high school classmates on the internet and I'm seeing them cuddling new grandchildren and I'm seeing their wrinkles and their gray hair... and I'm seeing them labeled for food assignment. And I see myself.
Baynah, I'm sure your family would never send me off to the processing plants. But this cannot go on any longer. You have the gift to transmit your experience to all the others in your race. I want you to share this image with everyone: Me without my arm, all the blood on your living room floor. To turn an elderly human into presentable food you have to remove the human looking features. That's reality.
The other Darmenoids need to share your horror. If you don't transmit, if you don't share, I'll start in on my legs. Then on my neck, if I'm not dead yet.
I love you Baynah. And one way or another we need to say goodbye.
Copyright 2016 by Matt Haynes.
If you would like to use this piece, please credit: "Courtesy of Matt Haynes and The Pulp Stage"
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