Drama at the hydrothermal vents

It happened only yesterday, but already my grief has turned to rage and an agenda for revenge. (Things move apace at these steamy depths.) They killed her inadvertently, fine. I hold them no less responsible. That gang of dorsal-eyed shrimp has never been particularly conscientious of others and their spaces, but last night was the nadir. In their greed for the best of what the Archaea and other microbes were emitting – around my home on the rock pinnacle – a hundred of them closed in and trampled my darling baby daughter. Trampled her to death! She was just two weeks old… just learning to manipulate her tiny claws!

I will have my revenge. I’m rallying my pinnacle neighbors; we’re forming a small army. My fellow white crabs, the ghost fish, the red-tipped tube worms. Sly, translucent Antichroma, our token volcanoctopus. Little is needed to foment a spirit of hostility, since the shrimp are already near-universally disliked.

They are powerful in their numbers. But we have fury, and the element of surprise on our side. The dandelion siphonophores will create a diversion as they float by. The battle must begin posthaste, however. If I don’t get back shortly to my spot by the Archaea, I’ll die myself. After all, it’s not like I can convert hydrogen sulfide into energy.

~ by kingzoko on October 7, 2013.

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