Gregory sillins

The Hoard

Those damn meat sacks - they did it again. They put down another two of the newly enlightened. We all have to eat; the hunger is too driving. On top of that ever driving need, now a tracking band of meat has started cutting us down. They just don’t understand. We try to tell them: to guide them, but all they do is grunt, stab, and kill. One even tried to get me today but the heart shaped locket of my own meat sack days tangled in its arm, raring from me the last vestiges of my past now forgotten. The trinket that now lays open where it was ripped from me, a smiling group of two large and two small meat sacks: a vestige of something once so familiar, now a relic unrecognizable. The artifact remained ignored, overshadowed by the fact that I had saved that horrid meat sack that tried to end me.