For the one that got left behind, Pt 2

Contributed by a dear friend of mine, Cam Dawson.
Dedicated to Tilikum.
For captive dolphins everywhere. Including orcas.

What would become of a creature that was eternally free? That was given nothing more than the gift of life, and nothing less than the expectation to live it. The ability to trust that the world is not a lie, and that there is nothing more or less than what can be perceived, given and taken, expressed and understood.

What would become of a creature that was demonstrated pain for a reason that could not even be imagined. Immeasurable pain for immeasurable time, for how does a creature calculate the degree of its suffering or the lengths it has endured, when it has never needed to be bound by the constraints of time?

What would become of a creature forced to be a piece in a game it was not even playing, for the amusement of the faces and voices it did not understand. Such fear, such horror, and for what?

What would become of a creature left to the confines of its own mind. Screaming to be heard over a storm unseen, unheard by those who made it? Left with its own thoughts, its own songs. Watching as its world grew ever smaller, and its songs ever shorter. Without rhyme, without purpose. The cold, bright fist of fear. Anguish, terror, becoming rage. Rage is not intelligent, but it works. What would become of a creature who had to learn that?

What would become of a creature if it came to find that the controllers of its storm enjoyed it? That this was no misunderstanding, that this was no lack of communication? What would become of a creature that tried, and tried, and tried to reach out and convey its fear, only to reach the smiles and beckoning hands of people who knew that it hurt. Oh yes, let me drive the knives in deeper, oh yes, let me use you for all you are worth, because that is all there is. What you are worth to me. What would become of a creature that came to understand that it did not exist?

I know. That creature would be you. I need to look no further than your haunted eyes, your wild desperation. Even though deep down you know it is all too late. That what is said is ignored, and what is done is done with enough deliberation to do it to thousands. It's all over. It's all over.

What become creature need to sleep. Leave me, leave, leave, need sleep, need sl...