It is clear that I have become more food-like than I could have ever expected. That, by the way, is a ways away from being a compliment, it’s more wayward than the way one should behave. Metaphorically speaking.
There has been nothing for me to report in the last few days – weeks is the correct term I believe, the obsession of the food for separating and differentiating such infinitesimal units of time is astonishing, though it probably correlates with their astonishingly short lifespan. The reason for my lack of news is the lack of excitement surrounding my interactions with, and capture of, food. I have been, instead, receiving regularly scheduled gifts from the food.
Nothing too extraordinary, you may think, other than perhaps the aforementioned regularity. Food sacrificing other foods is more often than not a means to an end, making the latter disappear to the benefit of the former for some usually incomprehensibly petty and pointless reason. But I did view it as my cosmic duty to perform my function as designed by the Universe, a “call to duty” as the food who wants other foods to get killed puts it.
Or at least I did.
Yes, past sense.
You see, the food came in perfectly regular intervals. Juicy, squirming, fresh food. A variety of flavours as well, some better than others, but there was the anticipation of waiting to see what the next morsel would be. I was – dare I say it – content. Food was always available. I relaxed. My efforts to capture food myself. A group of humans that passed nearby got away with barely a scare as I half-tentacledly tried to reach for them without much faith or conviction.
Xenobiologists were unsure as to whether the sarlacc was animal or plant.
I can now understand why the food made that observation. Well fed and contented, I reverted to an almost quiescent state.
The food that fed me only helped me reach that state.
“I never get tired of this!” It said, after feeding me a particularly tasty morsel one day.
One term I have heard once before is Nirvana. A particularly boring and hairless food mentioned it as I swallowed it whole, without the slightest struggle from its part. A happy state where one wants for nothing.
The food never mentioned what was on the other side of Nirvana. Boredom. Pure, complete boredom.
At least that’s why I tell myself to justify having blown up the flying food box of my benefactor with a well placed piece of explosive junk reduced it to smithereens. The food cried out only one word before its ultimate demise.
Because I was bored.
After that, I spent three days fasting, before capturing a, by any standards, difficult wandering food with acute senses and fast little legs. Never saw it coming.
It was delicious. It tasted like freedom.
Freedom is a lonely state, except for the brief moments shared with the talking food, but it’s incredibly tasty.
I love this life.