The Real Monster

The Real Monster

By Sam Jensen

With a final step he crested the hill. The crunch of gravel sounded beneath his ironclad boot. He had found the source of the noise.

It was obvious that there had been a conflict. The layer of dust remaining in the air was evidence. It hinted he was a late spectator of a fierce battle. He continued his path, his left boot dragging. In the distance, he recognized a mass on the ground. It was a human.

Irradiated humans were rare to see. Not that it was rare to see something mutated by radiation--they were all different now -- but rather, there were no humans left to be seen. The residual radiation had mutated almost every species. Creatures that had four legs grew two more. Quadrupeds became bipedal. There were drastic advancements in some species while others digressed. And the remaining humans were no exception.

The remaining humans bore little semblance to their typical species. The wandering “survivors” presented a dangerous and cautionary reminder. Their ghost forms were relics of a self-destroyed species. There had always been wars among their kind, but nothing like the final one. Who can say why they decided to annihilate one another. He had never given it much thought.

There had been a time when humans had studied the great race. But greed and consumption of the earth bred competition and dragged them beyond feeling. During those years they were destroying the homes and land of his ancestors. Humans were the greatest enemy then, but not now.

The human lay in a pathetic pile. It was usually difficult to discern what were fresh wounds and what was decay on these rotting corpses. But on this one, the mortal wounds that brought its end were obvious. There was a spear embedded in its skull. The spear was evidence that a hare had been in battle with this human. He quickly lifted his hand cannon. A bluish light began to swell from its internal workings. If this battle was ended by a hare, he was in more trouble than he had anticipated. He cautiously shifted into a crouch as he stepped around the human, kicking up a small cloud of dust.

As he rounded the mass, he was startled to see a hare in a pool of blood. There was a red hole where an arm was supposed to be. He lifted his free hand in front of his face should he need to parry an assault.

To his alarm, the hare was still breathing. The rasp of a lung full of blood still trying to draw air was sounding from the hare. He pointed his cannon at the hare’s head. A nearly dead hare was still a dangerous hare. Plus, the world needed less of its kind anyway.

He prepared to deliver the final blow, his cannon began to hum, and the blue glow began to swell. The surge in light reflected in the hare’s eyes. He realized he had never been this close to a living hare. He did not know of any tortoise that had. Ever since the great race, the tortoises had tried to keep their distance from the hares, or kill them when there was not distance to be had. The hare’s remaining hand limply raised up in a feeble attempt at self-preservation. A sound came from the hare as blood spilt from its lips. The hare was attempting to speak. With the hollow sound of death, the hare pushed out what sounded like, “ Please.”

Startled, the tortoise repositioned his footing to confirm he was still standing. Hares could not speak, he thought. But reflection revealed he had never learned anything about hares except what had been shared by elder tortoises. He had been led to believe that hares were barbaric, frenzied creatures, with little to no brain function, devoid of feeling, and no respect for life. A slew of things he “knew” began to roll through his mind. This small effort by the hare had sown a seed of doubt that perhaps he did not know who hares were. Attempting to recommit himself to his former knowledge, he raised the cannon, and straightened his arm, pointing the weapon directly at the hare. This small doubt would not overcome the generations of bloodshed between tortoises and hares.

Amidst this new mental conflict, he spied an object on the human corpse. It was a heart-shaped locket. It struck him as odd. Why did a human have a symbol of caring on its chest? Lowering his weapon, he moved towards the locket. With a jerk and sudden release, he tore the necklace from the corpse. He studied the locket; it was rather beautiful in its simplicity. Upon its opening, a picture of a human was revealed. This is how they used to look, he supposed. The image of the person was not threatening in any way. With the locket in hand, he glanced at the rotting human. This creature was cared for. At some point it was understood. It appears he had forgotten that humans were not always initiators of destruction. So why did the humans end their world? How could a species with love and loved ones set those aside and destroy everything? The enemy they were aiming to destroy, when they destroyed the world, must have been a truly horrendous monster, he thought.

In that moment, a revelation occurred. Maybe the humans did not destroy their world out of a knowledge of their enemy; but rather fighting an evil even greater than hate. Perhaps ignorance was the swamp that created their monster. Their ignorance of those who were different allowed for the creation of a monster worse than any human could ever be.

As the tortoise held the locket in his hand he glanced at the hare, its chest shuddering with each breath. Was ignorance and the ignorance of his forefathers the creation of the great enemy that was the hare? Had blindness led to so much destruction? Shaking his head, he tried to free himself of his conflict. But the seed had made roots. Did it matter if he were to kill this hare that was nearly dead? Hadn’t he killed many hares before? Hadn’t the hares killed his own kin? Would it matter if he did what he had always done?

The discomfort that attends change and lost beliefs filled his mind. Life was easier when he didn’t know. With a newfound determination, the tortoise knelt and grabbed the hare by the ears, lifting its head and shoulders off the ground. His cannon began to swell and surge with power as he pointed it at the hare the light reflecting in its fading eyes. The cannon turned white hot from current overdraw. The tortoise shoved his cannon forward pressing it against the red hole where the arm used to be. The sound of searing flesh rang in his ears, the smell piercing through the decomposing human scent. The hare’s eyes were full of life and adrenaline as he let out a yell. The wound was sealed. Smoke rose from the cannon as it boiled off the remaining blood and hair. The hare’s eyes rolled into the back of its head as it slipped into unconsciousness.

The tortoise pulled a belt from his pack and put the locket in its place. He laced the belt around the hare’s chest and under his remaining arm. With a twist of his body, he hoisted the belt over his shoulder lifting the hare. The tortoise turned toward his village, dragging the hare behind him, slow and steady.