Maybe You Should Show Some Empathy for the Flesh-Eating Blob Monsters
Illustration by Isabel Berney.
Just look at you. Ensconced in your liberal ivory tower, practically drowning in self-satisfied smugness. Locked in your echo chamber, stuck in a bubble with people who think exactly like you, never considering anyone else’s perspective.
Have you even tried to understand why the blob monsters relentlessly consume human flesh? Maybe you need to have a little more empathy for their lives.
The mainstream media spends so much time looking down their noses at the blob monsters, mocking them for poor hygiene just because they don’t wipe their suckholes clean after consuming a person whole to be digested slowly by the acidic gel they have in place of organs.
“They’re brainless!” shout the punditocracy, just because the blob monsters literally don’t have brains.
“Oh god help me, they’re eating my children!” Blob monsters reproduce asexually, so why should we expect them to understand the value we place on children? I thought liberals were supposed to be the tolerant ones.
My god, do you even hear yourselves?
I bet you have never taken a single moment to think about why the flesh-eating blob monsters came to our planet in the first place. Did their meteor fall here and destroy western Europe by chance, or did they aim for Earth? What sort of socioeconomic forces are behind their inexorable spread across the face of the planet as they eat every human being they come in contact with? What are their fears, their anxieties?
I’m not like you. I’ve spent time among the blob monsters. I grew up around them, chained up in their copper mines, steeped in their rich culture. Did you know the sounds a blob monster makes as it sucks a human into its maw are actually quite melodic? Did you know that while all blob monsters are translucent green, there are subtle differences in the shading amongst them? Do you know why they need so much copper? I’ve wondered about that a lot. I bet you couldn’t care less.
You’ve never imagined what it must be like to be a blob monster, stranded on an alien planet. Afraid of a strange culture nothing like the one where they grew up. Surrounded by people who hate them, who run screaming when they approach.
Maybe we’re the real blob monsters.
I urge you to take the time to get to know the blob monsters, like I have. Get out of your fortified bunkers protected by moats filled with baking soda, the only substance known to stop them. Don’t just try to escape having your flesh slowly melted inside their bodies as your family watches in horror, but think about why they want to eat you in the first place.
Stop only talking to people who have the exact same opinions you do of the flesh-eating blob monsters and maybe actually travel to one of the wastelands they control and have somehow transformed to match the horrific landscapes of their home world. Try talking to a blob monster for once. Just because there’s no evidence they understand human speech, or even have auditory sense organs, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t reach out and try to communicate.
Maybe, just maybe, you’ll manage to learn something for once. If you take some time to get to know the blob monsters like I have, maybe you’ll start to understand them a little better. Then maybe you’ll see things from their perspective, or even from inside their bodies as you are slowly, painfully consumed.