Prophets in Foreign Lands

I sometimes have a hard time grasping the thought patterns behind the actions of the food. After I convinced myself that they were, in fact, somewhat intelligent, I decided to work on understanding how their minuscule brains work. One hypothesis I had was that the thought patterns would be of a limited scope; this, I pretty much get evidence for on my year-to-year life.

The other hypothesis was that these thought patterns, being of a limited nature, would be simple and easy to decipher; this last one is what I have a hard time reconciling with reality. Every time I think I have figured out the basics of their understanding, they surprise me with something unexpectedly new.

For the last few weeks I have been receiving visits from a group of foods that call themselves “The Prophets of the Sarlacc,” who come on a regular basis to offer me sacrifices (something that is not particularly new), admire my might and power (which has made me reluctantly admit they may be more intelligent than I gave them credit for), and… And to act as supplicants and beg the Sarlacc (that’s me) for a show of power that will somehow fix something wrong with their lives.

I was rendered practically speechless when I figured out the latter. Surely that can’t be true, I must have heard wrong, I thought; but no, the food is actually asking me for the most bizarre things. I understand when a little food asks me for mercy because it doesn’t want to be eaten; sure, I eat them anyway, but it is conceivably within my power to grant such request. One could stretch it and ask me to get rid of some enemy; all they would have to do is put it within reach of any of my tentacles and I may make it happen.

But when a food item comes, throws another food at my maw, and then proceeds to ask me for its mate to become pregnant… Well, what am I supposed to do? Is there a food expression that can properly convey the utter confusion and disbelief that I feel?

Naturally, any food-eating and food-exterminating wishes I am quick to grant. The Sarlacc giveth, and the Sarlacc taketh away. Scratch that, the Sarlac just taketh away and munches on it.

I thought I was doing mighty fine playing the role of the deity. And my followers (followers of an immobile Sarlacc, this language truly confuses me sometimes) were apparently pretty happy about that.

Until some sort of disagreement broke out. Some food started to loudly question my divinity, and started to cause a stir among the others. This had been typically resolved in the past by throwing the offending food down the pit, so that the almighty Sarlacc may consume it and its heresy.

I usually did it in a very theatrical fashion. I am easily amused.

But this time it was different, the argument kept getting louder (not that I really paid attention to the details) and finally one of the foods raised its voice above the others.

“That is enough! I shall put this heresy to rest right now!”

There was sudden silence. The food turned to address me.

“Oh mighty Sarlacc! I beg of you, please assuage these poor peasants’ doubts, so that no one may ever question your power again! I humbly make this request, oh divine One!”

At first nothing happened. There were some murmurs, but before they could extend, a deep rumbling drowned their voices. And while they started asking what was happening, I opened my maw and spit a ball of residues.

It was a fairly small one, as I hadn’t accumulated much in the last couple of hundred years or so since the last time I spit one. However, the effect I was looking for was achieved.

First off, I aimed towards the food that started the whole trouble. And if you have been paying attention, you’ll know I am quite accurate with throws.

Score: Me.

Second, I made the ball carefully, pulling out some of the fresher kills that had come from this group of foods in the first place. I doubt they were a pleasant view, and they made some sad noises that amounted to something akin to “kill me, please!”

You should have seen the stir this caused! I also grabbed a couple of foods that fell off in the hysterics that followed, as a replacement for the ones I had just spit.

Fair’s fair.

Haven’t heard from my “followers” since, though. And I was so sure I had played the part perfectly.

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