It was nice to wake up at the same time every evening.
There were only a few days beneath the sapphire-silk waters of the tropics that she’d been interrupted. One time was when a manatee had drifted over her pod. The shadow and shape of it made her think it was one of the human’s ships. She could kill during the day if she wanted, but after smelling the water and separating the stench of the living through the salt and algae, she knew it was just another of the planet’s non-toxic creatures. It wasn’t one of the destroyers, polluters, and killers.
It wasn’t one that needed to be reminded.
Another time she’d been woken was when a human child had glided over her in a row boat. Whoever it was had not noticed the black shape in the water that she slept in. From above, it looked like a large disk with a sort of line through its center. Designs were etched across it like hieroglyphics. Even she didn’t know what they meant.
The vessel shuttered and shook. She could tell they were young and weak. She had a choice whether she could kill the little ones. With the adults, especially when the song was singing at night, it was harder, but she had free will. She wasn’t as mindless as they thought. The way that little human paddled that boat made it a look like a bug turned on its back.
How could she kill something as pitiful as that?
When the sound started, that ghostly echo from some faraway drum, her body would instantly stir. The door around her were would be open like an eyelid, and she’d be smelling in all directions for something to pulverize, mutilate, or eviscerate. When the song first started, she’d found hundreds of survivors each night to crush within the living fabric she carried on her back. Now, she seldom saw any, unless they became brave and therefore stupid.
The audacity to be a hero was an easy arrogance to take advantage of in this apocalypse.
She knew the humans wouldn’t be completely gone, no matter how many times they listened to the phantom song and carried out its slaughter. Her kind didn’t know the world better than them, despite being older and wiser.
On her way to shore when the drum started, she’d pass a solitary vessel bowing on the waves. She could hear a human’s heartbeat on it, but she could till he was scared enough to not be a threat. Despite the commands of the voices in her head when the sound would start and the strange lust for human blood that would power the interactions between her cells, there were still moments of mercy in her mind. This man on the boat was one of them. She could tear it apart looking for him. She could even just puncture the hull with one of the tentacles in her hair by turning them into a tangled drill and let the man sink into the white sand like a broken toy.
She didn’t though.
Despite the voices in the song, the orders from the leaves curled together like mountains, it wasn’t her purpose to kill every human.
She was simply to put them in their place.
A little monstrous POV from one of the watery Unnamed of the Greenland Diaries. There are three other stories that go with this one: Largo, the Marksman, and the Lagoon. The Greenland Diaries is the universe that just keeps on giving. If you have no idea what I’m talking about feel free to read a sample, scope out one of the paperbacks, or find it on the Kindle. Thanks for reading.