A specially commissioned piece to celebrate the debut performance of H@ndles
The Krathen lurk and lie, eating secrets for breakfast and regurgitating it back for lunch. Their favourite food is data; juicy tidbits of information about humanfolk’s lives.
At first we never realised they were there. Too many cat videos and articles and opinions to think about it. To notice them, just beneath the surface.
But slowly the Krathen ate more and more, pulling pieces of our lives apart. They chew with ferocity, strong jaws clamping down on notions we once upheld as proof we were living in an enlightened age. A post-everything age, where we can say what we like, as loud as we like. Soon we were screaming.
They seem to like the screams, although that slow realisation must have also provided them with entertainment. When the Krathen are excited, or happy, they emit a strong-smelling mucus, oozing from their oversized pores.
Now that smell is everywhere, in our nostrils, in our sleep.
Once we wouldn’t have thought twice before creating or sharing, reposting and tagging and blogging and recording every part of our existence. As the documentation became more desperate, that now-familiar squelch rose in pitch and volume, until it was vibrating like a hummingbird, deafeningly shrill.
The internet is our only way left to communicate now. But messages are dangerous; by the time we finally learned our lesson, it was far too late. The Krathen were everywhere and they were gorged on our stories, made rampant by our distraction and our malice that were thrown into existence the same way they are now thrown up.
Loneliness cannot be borne for long. We don’t stay quiet, no matter the consequences. The creatures know this too, and they wait, smiling, for us to crack. A single, slightly-rambling post; a 6-second video about nothing at all – we hope and pray that it is harmless. We should know better by now.
I should have stopped writing by now.