Animals
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Animals
Here, have some of my English coursework.
Humanity.
This world does not know the meaning of the word.
Humanity is nothing more than a droplet in an ocean. A single thread in the tapestry of time. Unnoticeable. Unimpressive.
They grossly overestimate their own importance. Their impact. This world was spinning its way through the steps of the celestial dance for countless millennia before humanity even thought to emerge from the dirt they burrowed in, and it will continue to do so long after they flare and die. Just like those before them.
They do not matter. Barely dust in the sharp, impossible size of the universe. Nothing.
But they refuse to believe it.
They separate themselves from their animalistic fellows by repressing their instincts. Lust becomes love, vengeance becomes justice, pack becomes family. They draw themselves up, stand above the other creatures, as they can no longer lounge in the trees with the rest of their kin. They grow slower, weaker, pitiful, all in the name of civility.
They have forgotten how to be what they were.
Ruthless. Fast. Strong.
...
Once, I counted myself among them. Human. Civil. Weak. Wasted.
Now? Now, I know better.
I know what it is to run in the night. To tear flesh from bones with claws and teeth, to scream primal ecstasy at a glowing, swollen moon.
I have tasted blood and skin and freedom.
I am more.
Humanity fears me. Not simply because they cannot control me, cannot tame me; they fear me because I remind them of what they could be. What that should be. What they are, beneath the modesty and courtesy, the layers of fat and sloth, the abomination of culture.
They fear me because they know the truth, as vehemently as they deny it; behind closed doors, we are all animals at heart.
Humanity.
This world does not know the meaning of the word.
Humanity is nothing more than a droplet in an ocean. A single thread in the tapestry of time. Unnoticeable. Unimpressive.
They grossly overestimate their own importance. Their impact. This world was spinning its way through the steps of the celestial dance for countless millennia before humanity even thought to emerge from the dirt they burrowed in, and it will continue to do so long after they flare and die. Just like those before them.
They do not matter. Barely dust in the sharp, impossible size of the universe. Nothing.
But they refuse to believe it.
They separate themselves from their animalistic fellows by repressing their instincts. Lust becomes love, vengeance becomes justice, pack becomes family. They draw themselves up, stand above the other creatures, as they can no longer lounge in the trees with the rest of their kin. They grow slower, weaker, pitiful, all in the name of civility.
They have forgotten how to be what they were.
Ruthless. Fast. Strong.
...
Once, I counted myself among them. Human. Civil. Weak. Wasted.
Now? Now, I know better.
I know what it is to run in the night. To tear flesh from bones with claws and teeth, to scream primal ecstasy at a glowing, swollen moon.
I have tasted blood and skin and freedom.
I am more.
Humanity fears me. Not simply because they cannot control me, cannot tame me; they fear me because I remind them of what they could be. What that should be. What they are, beneath the modesty and courtesy, the layers of fat and sloth, the abomination of culture.
They fear me because they know the truth, as vehemently as they deny it; behind closed doors, we are all animals at heart.
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