A Predator's Lament

Nothing personal, my dear, but you are not wanted.

In point of fact, you have NEVER been wanted.

You wanted to be wanted, more than anything. This wasn't your fault, really; it was, in a way, a sort of biological imperative; you were built with this desire to be desired.

Whoever created you must indeed be possessed of a sick sense of humor.

After all, he put into your heart a drive that can never be satiated, because you want to be wanted, when in fact you will never be wanted, much less needed, much less loved.

I do not convey this to you out of sadism or cruelty. Though I, and others like me, are not in the least possessed of empathy (at least not towards the likes of you), and though I only pretend to love you, while truly using you parasitically, draining your essence utterly until you are entirely "used up," etc.), this behavior on my part is not the result of any ill-will towards you.

That is to say, I simply don't CARE enough about you to feel any sort of way about you, for good or for ill, the same way that you probably never stopped to think about how that chicken whose breast you ate for dinner must have felt at any point during the course of her lifetime in the chicken pen, much less at the event of her extermination.

You are, to me, like that chicken breast was to you: a means of sustenance: a thing to be swallowed, to be digested, and whose indigestible parts are to be flung into the fire.

But unlike you, who (no doubt correctly) regards the chicken as a lower life form, shorn of sentience, I am tuned in to the fact of your complex mental functions. I do not in the least CARE about your well-being-- to repeat what was stated above-- but that does not preclude me from a sort of detached curiosity concerning that which makes you desire the very thing that is sure to destroy you.

When will you, silly one, realize that beings like us have nothing good to offer you? Are you really as helpless as the sailors in your myths, so captivated by the Sirens' sweet, dreamy anthem of promise that you wreck your sturdy vessel on the jagged rocks?

Maybe you are mere slaves to your biology, as I suggested above. Yet surely, a being as complex as yourselves, beings possessed of free will, as you are, or at least fancy yourself to be, can dispossess yourself of this drive toward humiliation, debasement, and degradation.

Really, truth be told, you disappoint me. As I feast avidly upon the entrails of your deflated spirit and absorb with relish the essence of your diminished and dissolved being, I find it strangely wanting. Toothsome tidbit though you may be, you lack savor. A bit of defiance would make you far more flavorful to the palate.

In short, try harder to resist my wiles, O insipid one!

Even if you don't manage ultimately to elude my clutches, your determined resilience will at least endow your innards with a zest that shall enliven my tastebuds and provide my ritual sessions of solemn devourment with an atmosphere of much greater mirth and enjoyment...