Race

They were creatures very unlike all of the others. The kings and queens. The rulers of all living things. The chosen ones. No one could argue this fact. Most admired them for their station in life and the abilities that were beyond anything any one else could ever achieve. It's not that the others wanted to be them, just that they were magnificent creatures and admiration seemed to be the appropriate form of genuflection; another fact that was unavoidable.

They were fair rulers, looking after each other and all the beings on the planet. They were careful not to trod in the sacred place that existed before their coming to life. They followed the laws of the land, only taking what they needed to survive and honored the rituals of the other beings. Most beings were largely unaware of their presence and those that knew of them found them to be kind and very conscientious.

But one being felt personally affronted by their presence. He felt he should have been the chosen one, that he and his kind should have been named the ruling race. Not these newcomers. He worked diligently to find a weakness. The work was difficult, but his desire was strong. His lust for power consumed him, growing bigger than himself, tearing him apart. To many that had known him well, he was utterly unrecognizable. Not even a shadow of his former self.

When he recognized this, he didn't identify it as a worrisome trait. Instead he used it to his advantage. "Come with me," he whispered to them while they laid in soft grasses dreaming under the stars. "Follow me," he encouraged them as they drank from cool springs or smelled the blossoming flowers. Night after night and even more quietly at opportune times during the day he whispered to them. He filled their thoughts with a need to follow him where ever he lead.

He took them into the sacred place. They were reluctant, but powerless to turn back. They fell into the beauty and sanctity of the place. They luxuriated in the tenderness they felt as they roamed the place. They wanted more of it. Small tastes from the trees an plants. The feel of things against their skin. They took more with each subsequent trip. More and more until they could not be satisfied in the world outside of the sacred place.

They began to think of the sacred place as their home, one they were entitled too and that others did not deserve. Day by day the whispers became embedded deeper into their souls. They began to change, making excuses for disturbing rituals, for taking what they wanted, for displacing entire groups of beings to make life better for them. He watched in his writhing body, feeling power seep in as the chosen ones succumbed to their lusts and became unrecognizable to the others.

He smiled knowing the war would be over soon.

*** One Minute Writer ***