“Indigenous”

You don’t belong here. You are like the locusts, the grey squirrels, the poison ivy—life forms smuggled out of your element by a homesick immigrant from another place, a place where your numbers were controlled by natural predators and the balance easily maintained.

Now your numbers overwhelm. The world—my world—is threatened by a rampant population and irreversible damage to the environment. Because of you, my world struggles to maintain its equilibrium. Its state of health is imperiled. A mistake was made in bringing you here. The one responsible is aware, but awareness has come too late.

There may be one hope for my kind. What do you do when your home is overrun with vermin? How do you respond when your garden is poisoned and your survival becomes paramount?

You call an exterminator.

Have a nice day.

* * *

Yup, this exercise is black, but I was a little morbid when I wrote it. I actually want to write a full length story once I get through the holidays; it dawned on me one day that we humans are behaving much like those other pesky beasts that are pulled from their natural habitat and wind up infesting their new home because nothing natural knows how to deal with them.

Discuss?