Fiction: The Island Snatchers


The Island Snatchers

They followed us wherever we went creating. Where we built worlds, they plundered.

From the primordial sea we raised landscapes. We took our starry-eyed imaginings and made them place. We built an island where the sun never set and an island that was bathed in constant moonlight. Desert islands, tropical islands, islands made of marble, steel, and even colored glass. What we made was always good; the Islands Snatchers claimed them all.

Soon we grew tired of having our labors stolen. We were weary and ready to settle on an island we could call home without fear of eviction. We set out to build the perfect world, something new and complex.

First we built the best of all our worlds before it. And then we duplicated it. Two identical islands: one for us and one for them. But the Island Snatchers were greedy. They would want both.

The thieves were thuggish pigs who knew nothing of art. They wanted only what was easy and enjoyable and they wanted all of it. They lacked the creativity to build anything, but they devoured everything we made.

We resolved to punish them. To the second island we added disease, carnivorous beasts, precarious cliff edges, dark caverns where danger lurked. We waited.

One island was our greatest masterpiece and the other was a trap. The Island Snatchers realized this. They took the first one.

Relieved, we finally rested.

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Midwest writer hailing from the Mitten State. Not nearly as clever as I pretend to be.

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