Our masters are cruel. Our lives – if they can even be called lives – are even worse. We exist so fleetingly and then not at all, brought out only for fighting and for dying. These brief moments of an outside existence have taught us to do what we can while we must – to kill or be killed in the small space of time that we have.
Our masters grumble against us, complaining that we “pull the wrong targets” or “stand in the fire” or “brainlessly go running after the wrong thing again.”
How are we to know what is right? We are only an image, mirrored and split and not long for this earth. We cannot see as our masters see or know what our masters know. Half a minute is all the time we have to deal with each encounter we are thrown into. So often we are bait, dying in the place of our masters that they might live on.
After all, we’re expendable.
This is all we know. Our time is short; we are expected to fight and to die. So this is what we do.
Of course we do. We love our masters, for they are our own selves, careless and wasteful as they are. So we will attack anything that is too near. We do not know what may or may not be a threat. We do not know what it means to stand behind a shield, for we are a shield and sword ourselves.
And this is another reason why we do not hate our masters. Does any man consider the feelings of his tools? Certainly not for most tools have no feelings. They are inanimate things without even the small spark of life we have been granted.
Above all else, we spend our time waiting to be needed again. When we are called upon we will do the best we can with our limited time and resources, hoping that some day we’ll be seen as something more than expendable.
I don’t even know
Reading this over, it seems rather corny to me, but the idea that sparked it and the feeling that I really don’t appreciate my copies enough is enough for me to go ahead and post it anyway. Also, at this point, I am aiming for a whole week of cheese. More to come!