I am the nightmare that nightmares are afraid of.

Why?

Why me?

A month and a day after we buried my father.

Agony does not begin to describe my feelings of loss.  Fear of the future.  Longing for lost moments when my father and I seemed to float in complete silence, not saying a word but having the type of father-son relationship everyone wishes for but rarely receives.

So many “buts,” “ands,” and “ifs.”

If only I had paid more attention to the change in his skin colour.

And what about the sharp twist in his diet?

But I could have been there more often at the end…

But I wasn’t.

And there are no more moments alone with my father, watching the world swim by.

If, if, if…

Can a monster cry?

Can a being such as I am, constantly hungry, forever thirsty, shed a single tear?

Look at me, a stranger in a strange land, traveling with the most unusual companion to ever spend time with me, never once cringing in fear or running away.  In fact, this small creature cares for me more than my mother ever did.

Mothers like mine weren’t born to nurture.  It’s like, “Look, honey!  I’ve got a bunch of fertile eggs, thanks to your sperm.  Let’s give them the world, let them learn lessons the hard way, fight for their future, just like us.  Swim, my little ones, swim!”

Do you know what it’s like to be cold and all alone, no parent to guide you, no siblings to watch out for you?

You think you’ve got problems?

Imagine you’re a tiny fruit fly in a big rain forest.

Or a little squid in a vast ocean.

There’s not a lot of room for love in situations like that.

So you can see why I became the monster that I am.

I only know an eat-or-be-eaten world.  There is no live and let live.  Or “if you’re not with the one you love, love the one you’re with.”

Yet, I’ve got these feelings I’ve never had before.

Sure, I’ve had my share of chemical attractions and mating dances with those of my species.

But this time…

I don’t know.

Can it be possible?

Can a nightmare feel love?

Can a horrible, nasty, ravenous One, a type of Cthulhu or Chupacabra, a Shiva or Hades, have “feelings of an almost human nature?”

I may be foul and was birthed in the unspeakable depths but I am educated.  I have heard the strains of your species’ music playing through the murky waters of my adopted home beneath the currents swirling around your planet, far from my birthplace in what you could only describe as the pits of Hell.

We shall see.

As long as this delicate creature keeps me fed, I do not care.  She is my maid, my cook and my devoted servant.  For that, she deserves not only my thanks, but a bit of compassion.  Should I find myself starving, she won’t be the first one I’ll eat, I promise you that.

I put these thoughts into the fingers of the person writing this story for you.  He is my slave, whether he knows it or not.  Your species is so easy to influence, it’s almost embarrassing to take over your world.

But who’s going to stop me?

Who’s going to notice me laying my own fertilised eggs in the fountains of your city?

Who’s going to see my little hatchlings adapt to chemically-poisoned water, what you would call approved fluoridated and chlorinated tap water?

Who’s going to watch me transform my next eggs into species that emulate the invisible germs that crawl in and out of your body without a bit of worry from you?

This isn’t Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

I’m not here to steal your resources or farm your bodies and your livestock for my planet in a nearby arm of the galaxy.

No, it’s much simpler than that.

I’m here to become you.

I’m here to turn this planet into one big, happy version of me.

Some will call me Gaia.  Some already have.

Don’t compliment me too easily.

You see, I’m going to eat a lot of you before this planet is mine.

Then, one day, after I’ve slithered and slipped into your food chain, I’ll get bored.

I’ll want to expand again, explore another part of your solar system, stretch my tentacles ever so quietly into an unsuspecting ecosystem.

But there’s a long time, relative to your lifespans, before that day arrives.

Meanwhile, I have a lot to accomplish.  Outposts to settle.  Supply lines to defend, that sort of thing. (I’m not the only one of me in the galaxy, you know.  Some of us are a lot less educated and a bit more eager to feed our constant appetite.)

I thank you for reading this, whatever you call it, a “blog?”  Sounds like one of my kind.  Blog?!  Ha! Ha!  Arrrgh!  My name is Blog and I’ve come to eat your dog!  Here me stomping through your bog!  Boom!  Boom!  Ah, hahahahahaha!