Pale Crow Cocoon - Wed, Feb 19, 2025
2:40 AM
There is safety inside of the cocoon. Entwined by threads of flesh and bone, this is the one place you could ever call home. One day, after an eternity, will you emerge anew? Or are you simply an offering, to be feasted by crows, enticed by the twinkle of blood that seeps through. You’ve been told it smells enticing, but only heard from a distance. You wouldn’t know, you can’t smell your own scent, after all. You’d imagine it tastes bitter, to your taste buds at least. It’s not like you will ever know, cowards can’t eat their own flesh. Not that you would if you could. It doesn’t matter, anyways. You have a purpose to fulfill. Look. Look ahead. This being in front of you, they have a voracious hunger in their eyes. This is your reason for existence, is it not? They are starving, are they not? You can see it in their eyes, hear it in their voice, as they beg for a slice, can you not? This is your purpose. Despite that, the mutation of their gaze into a putrid disgust is unmistakable, even as you offer them a cut of your most tender meat, slicing away with the apparatus they gave you. When the scent reaches their nostrils, does it make them uneasy? Has it been cooked too thoroughly? Not cooked enough? Or maybe it’s rotten after all? Does it offend their senses? Can you even tell? Could you ever tell? It seems you truly are out of alignment. After all, it still doesn’t smell like anything to you. Maybe they sense it, that your intentions are impure? You don’t really care if you’re nourishing. You just want to be consumed. Not by anyone, of course, but it could have been anyone, of course. You have a purpose to fulfil. Livestock exists to be slaughtered, to be eaten, to be converted into something far more useful, of course. What purpose is there to a larvae, chrysalis cut open. Was it born just to decompose?