Jiggle, wiggle; move along the floor.
Jiggle, wiggle; eat.
It’s a strange thing, to be. One moment, nothing matters but moving on to the next meal. The next, things flow through, like a warm thing that hangs on the wall.
It’s odd; the ability to use ‘I’. I am not used to it, not will I ever be used to it. Things flow through me, more than food. Ideas, thoughts; these things are strange and not edible. But, they help me feed so they are good.
Eating is good, eating is life; anything that helps eating is thus good. Thoughts help, so they are good.
Things to eat are everywhere here, so it is a nice place. The . . . floor is always covered in little rough things that float down from the air. I like to go where there are no other . . . mes to so I can eat more.
Thoughts help me . . . learn things as well. I can remember the places that are best to eat; the best places are covered in other things. These other things expand like me, but do not feed like we do. They are different, so I can eat them. There are places covered in special floaty material which is long, small, and thin. It floats off the bigger things.
I can eat most things in this place, with a few exceptions: the shiny thing at the bottom, the little thing that moves above, the two bigger things, and the bigger me. I can hear them, feel them; they are like me and the other mes somehow.
The shiny thing is . . . worrisome. Fear is new too, something that comes with thoughts. I am me, but I am not like the other mes. The shiny thing controls the other mes, or is the other mes. It isn’t always the other mes, but it can when it wants to be. I used to be like that too. I remember my orders.
Many of the other mes are different now: bigger, better, stronger. I remember when all the mes were the same. I was . . . special though. I was used for the thing that moves above my head. It rested on me; I wasn’t allowed to eat it. I had another me before me, but that one became bigger and live in one place now. It can’t leave, but it doesn’t want to leave. That other is . . . not content; it has no thoughts of anything else.
I don’t want that. I don’t know why, but I fear joining back to the shiny thing. That would make me be not me. So I learn to avoid it.
Some places are strange; they change everywhere, and all the slimes dissolve when it does. I avoid those places. The best places stay the same, with a big me at the last spot.
The best things to eat are hard to catch.
I feel some coming. These things are the best to eat, but they are hard to eat. They stab and do other things that hurt. I had to learn to eat them better.
These things are very different from me. They are taller and do things I can’t do. But, I can still eat them.
The noise they make tells me where they are coming from. I know what to do to eat them.
I move up the side floors and to the above floor. There are small indentions in the above floor I can hide in. I wait, feeling the yummy things slowly pass below me. From my lessons, I know it is safer to eat the ones at the back first.
When I feel the noises almost finish passing below, I let go of the above floor and fall down. I land perfectly on the top of the yummy thing. I quickly cover the smaller round part of the thing so it stops making noise. Sometimes, that noise hurts.
Some of the other mes are attacking from the front, drawing the attention of the yummy things holding the stabby things. I knew they were going to; I can feel what the shiny thing tells them to do. The yummy thing I’m eating is trying to make noise, but I don’t let it. I eat it, and it falls down.
I know not to do much more; I’m not strong like the other mes. I leave the rest of the yummy thing behind and hide. I’ll come out and eat more if the stronger mes kill the rest of the yummy things.
This is my . . .existence. Thoughts are strange things. I sometimes hear the shiny thing and the thing moving above think to each other. I learn from them; their thoughts and their words. I am more now than I was.
I want to eat; more and more and more. There is nothing else worth existing for. To eat is to live.
At least, that’s what I used to think. More things matter to me now, as I watch my brethren get slaughtered by the yummy things. The yummy things are leaking liquid at the yummy thing I ate. I don’t understand.
I once wanted to eat. It was all that mattered to me.
Now, I want to devour more than meals. I want to . . .understand, learn, and do more. I want . . . everything.
I concentrate, and a small, red ball of warmth appears in front of me. It is joined by other small balls of things.
If I use these, can I kill the yummy things better? I want to know.
I leap at my prey.
Nothing will stop me from knowing.