The Screaming One
An apparition stood above them, enshrouded in cold blue fire, its face locked in a rictus grin of madness, its eyes lit bright blue from within as its silent voice shrieked in their minds. “A god? Me?!” It said mockingly to one of the terrified humans as though addressing them all, “What on this pathetic waste of a planet would one like me have to do with godhood?”
Several of the onlookers trembled as they clutched their useless weapons.
“Gods are such a limited, outdated concept from outdated philosophies. Gods need supplication. Gods need faith. Gods need believers. I care nothing for these! You’ll find nothing divine nor perfect here, I’m afraid. I prefer to call myself the First, but you can just call me Scream. You hear me in your minds, little monkeys, don’t you? Believe me,
this planet is doomed—you are doomed. But I’ll make things easy for you lot. You get to die first. I’m merciful that way. The rest on this sorry excuse for a rock will die slowly and miserably as I tear it apart by myself. I am sick—sick to death—of weaklings dominating the narrative for my species! I’m the First, and soon, the Only!”
It gestured, and its captive audience collapsed to the floor of the cave, forever free of the screaming in their brains, their fear—and their lives, in several heaps of charred and unfleshed bones. It thought to itself: Good to be rid of those smelly little piles of human trash, messing themselves at the very sight of me. I think it’s time to do likewise with the rest of the hairless apes on this world as well!
Copyright © Troy David Loy, 2018