Tiger Cub

Sometimes mindmonsters start out cute, like a little tiger cub.

You find it one day, so tiny and squirmy. Who doesn’t want a pet tiger? So you feed it and care for it, maybe spoil it a little. Maybe let it get away with too much. Sometimes you’ll be playing with it and feel the claws, but it was an accident, surely.

But it grows. It gets bigger, claws sharper, teeth larger. Its stripes look so pretty, its form so graceful, eyes like jewels. But too dangerous for you to keep. More scratches and bites are all that can come of this, you realise all of a sudden as you finally see the tiger past the pet.

You can’t keep it.

Perhaps it may be sent to a reserve, where it can live out its days, until it peters away forever, no more than a ghost. But the temptation to visit it is strong, the lure of its raw beauty compelling.

You could lock it up and starve it. If you don’t feed it, it can’t get any stronger. But the effort that would take would wear you down. If it did escape, could you ever control it again?

You wish you could just put
a
bullet
in
its
head.

But there are no firearms behind your eyes. You must tame your monsters with whip and wire.

Sometimes you forget the lessons you thought you’d learned.

Sometimes a mindmonster never had to be a monster at all.

Sometimes it was you who made it into one.

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