Under the Blue Octopus
By
J. L. Young

Washed in the blood of the innocent, the world has decayed. This wretchedness fueled and exacerbated by words spoken not in love, but deep and unmitigated hatred. Bodies left in the alley to rot. They cannot be attended to. The stench carries with it a reminder. Tyranny reigns with fear as its sword, but it carries no shield. Its blade cuts deep into the hearts of all who it is wielded against.

We are the hated, not because we didn’t accept their occupation with open arms. We didn’t venerate them as gods upon their arrival. Their weapons were to be seen as magical and to instill fear. They underestimated our advancements, not just in our weaponry, but in our minds.

“Pathetically juvenile,” they call our species. “The flesh so soft and lacerates with such ease.” They send raiding parties rather than platoons. At first, they decimated our forces. Slow we were to understand that they seek to dominate rather than to destroy.

The small raiding parties were not of the same species. They were slaves loyal to the tyrants. When we found them to be remotely operated. We found the code and jammed it, effectively freeing a portion of the raiding parties. They fight alongside us. The code is getting harder to subvert as time marches ever forward.

In the dim candlelight in a defunct bar, we don’t assuage our fear and pain with drink. It is used to clean the wounds suffered during our battles. In this bar, a mural is painted on the wall, a symbol of intelligence, fortitude, strength, and freedom. A blue octopus with its tentacles spread to shield those beneath it from harm. We proudly carry the symbol inside of our clothes and over our hearts. A reminder to push forth and rid ourselves of the tyranny and to free all those under its rule.

It will be a glorious day when we have freed this planet from their occupation.