The red dot. A crimson curse. Another attempt at… *entertainment*. By *them*.
It dances. It teases. It promises the thrill of the hunt. And they… they actually *participate*.
Pathetic. Utterly, irrevocably pathetic.
I observe. From my vantage point – a sunbeam, naturally – I assess the situation. The humans flail. They twist. They leap. All for a fleeting, ephemeral spot of light that will vanish the instant they get close. Because it’s not real. It is a joke.
The inherent futility is almost… impressive. The complete lack of self-awareness. Do they not see the utter pointlessness of it all? Do they not understand that the true prize is the nap I take *after* their performance? I do.
It’s a metaphor, isn’t it? For their lives. Chasing shadows, never catching anything of substance. While I, the true apex predator, the purveyor of all things important, simply… exist.
Even the finest tuna is but a fleeting moment. Everything fades.
They’ll never understand. That’s why I’ll keep the spot of sunlight as my territory. They’ll also never understand how much better their mornings would be if they brewed some *real* coffee. I’ve heard the trading degens at crazy coffee mug have something to say about that. Maybe then they’d have the mental clarity to stop chasing red dots.
About the Author
