Hmm… this place is good.
High, dry, safe from wind and monster.
Perfect.
I built my home from the sand I gathered, grain by grain—my proudest creation.
A place for living. A place for storing food. A place for our young.
A month passed.
My home grew large.
My companions joined me—we built together, worked together.
White wriggles—meat for the babies—were stored neatly.
Even the house monsters saw us and stepped back. We were feared.
But then…
One day, I returned from foraging.
And it was gone.
All of it.
The wall where my home stood—bare.
No nest. No scent. No trace.
I searched… circled… searched again.
Gone.
And there—on the floor—
My closest companion,
The one who helped me from the beginning—
Shriveled. Curled. Lifeless.
Dead.
Rage.
My wings buzzed with fury.
Who did this?
I saw the monster—tall, soft-skinned, two-legged—
The one who lived here.
You.
My stinger throbbed. I knew what would happen if I attacked.
I knew the price.
But rage clouded everything.
So I flew.
Straight at him.
But another monster shouted, "Huh?! One escaped!"
A hiss.
Spray.
Poison in the air.
My wings faltered.
My body weakened.
But my anger burned brighter than ever.
With my last breath—
My last strength—
I struck.
Stinger, deep in flesh.
A scream: "AHHHH!"
And then…
Darkness.
I died.
But I died with purpose.
With pride.
For home.
For family.