1n1REzE

Peter Watts 256 Blindsight
say the same thing, they are merely reporting that the parasites
have died. They are only saying that they are free.
If the human brain were so simple that we could understand it,
we would be so simple that we couldn't."
—Emerson M. Pugh
Sarasti, you bloodsucker.
My knees pressed against my forehead. I hugged my folded legs
as though clinging to a branch over a chasm.
You vicious asshole. You foul sadistic monster.
My breath rasped loud and mechanical. It nearly drowned out
the blood roaring in my ears.
You tore me apart, you made me piss and shit myself and I cried
like some gutted baby and you stripped me naked, you fucking
thing, you night crawler, you broke my tools, you took away
anything I ever had that let me touch anyone and you didn't have to
you babyfucker, it wasn't necessary but you knew that didn't you
You just wanted to play. I've seen your kind at it before, cats
toying with mice, catch and release, a taste of freedom and then
pouncing again, biting, not hard enough to kill— not just yet—
before you let them loose again and they're hobbling now, maybe a
leg snapped or a gash in the belly but they're still trying, still
running or crawling or dragging themselves as fast as they can
until you're on them again, and again because it's fun, because it
gives you pleasure you sadistic piece of shit. You send us into the
arms of that hellish thing and it plays with us too, and maybe
you're even working together because it let me escape just like you
do, it let me run right back into your arms and then you strip me
down to some raw half-brained defenseless animal, I can't rotate
or transform I can't even talk and you—
You—
It wasn't even personal, was it You don't even hate me. You