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Second verse; Same as the first.

Fingers green with rich infection, wayward veins of blank direction.

Scrapping hope from broken minds, cradlingcurledcontentconfined!

Licking lips from blossomed hearts, wistful whisp's and glazing larks.

So, where were we, my young friend? ... Ah yes, we had just cleared my early childhood, I remember now. How foolish of me to lose track...

As you should recall, my father left my mother and I (most violently, I may add) in my second year. And Mother was unable to financially stabilize our domestic circumstances, thought I do not doubt that she tried with every fiber of her being. Even at such an early age as two (where indeed it governs all the known world of a child) I knew that the love Mother and I shared was something unbreakable. A message and idea, all in one, embedded in diamond for all to glory upon. Surely such a trivial matter as the lack of an income was incapable of tearing such a monumental concept apart?

Ha ha, but unfortunately, everyone has the capacity for error. It was mere months before my lover and protector was unable to support both her own life and my own. As Mother could not continue her custody of me, I was sent to my grandmother for caring. I remember how cold those nights were, without her to hold me and whisper sweet nothings in my ear. But this is not the place in my tale for forlorn remembrances of lost motherhood and the like.

As you shall find, my young friend, the pieces of my life I shall soon divulge are indeed the happiest pieces. Believe me when I say this, child: your youngest days and the memories of them thereafter, are truly the only things that keep you living. When the world shows its face to me- the sickly face of a dying garden withered by pestilence- the beautiful days of being the God of the Forest is the only pacifier I have to keep it from eating my mind. I refuse to damage the happiness of my childhood memories with disheartening monologues of the memory of my mother.

Let us be more relevant, shall we? My grandmother, and from then on caretaker, was a beautiful and kind woman. Rather young as well, due to my Mother's young age. A cougar, as I am, though obviously without the faint black stripes I inherited from my father. The same eyes as well, a coruscating yellow. However, hers shone with a warm benevolence, unlike the rancor glowing in my own eyes.

From the earliest times of my residence, she was always there, trying to emulate, or perhaps trying to replace my mother. I suppose it was only natural for my grandmother to succumb to her maternal instincts and try to console me. The attempts to hold me, to feed me and to play with me were constant, however little I actually responded to them. Despite the façade of Mother she placed upon me, I was aware of how lonely the world was. I was none of the happy, carefree youth that a three-year-old should be. Despite the proddings by Grandmother, I remained in grieving for my lost love for over a year. I can only surmise she thought my dismay normal, due to my... father...

I guess you're wondering: Why did I say this was the happiest time of my life when I was very clearly so lost and alone? Well, since you are so parched to know, I'll tell you.

When I had cleared the age of three, just moving into four, my grandmother propostioned me to join her in gardening. I decided to come along, uttering a simple, affirmative grunt. It dawned on me, as the months passed, that Mother either would not or could not return for me. At least not until she knew she could keep me for the entire expanse of my childhood. And so I supposed that if I was to be without her, no amount of fussing would draw her to my side. If fate said it would be, then I would know the love that was Mother's again, I thought. But for now, an attempt on recreation seemed to be my only option.

My grandmother's backyard, like all of the surrounding area, was heavily forested. Ha, it's hardly correct to even call it a backyard at all. The best way to describe it is that it was a spacious alcove, densely canopied by thick, towering trees. On a spring or summer day, when the sunlight slithered its way through the copious leaves to the soil beneath, the grotto seemed to have an emerald glow to it. And tucked in the back of this nook was a small, crude patch of cultivated earth. Rooted in this "garden" were a variety of short, spindly plants, obviously comprised half or more of weeds.

Unsurprisingly, I found it dull at first. I sat beside Grandmother with a... ahh, what's the word... zombified expression, plucking out little stalks of greenery under her instruction. No doubt my face harnessed a frown of sheer apathy as I clawed around the soil, feigning labour. I'd suppose my grandmother also did not care about my sulking. She more cared that I was responding to her, however mechanical I was. But, of course, I did not tell you about this affair to express my boredom once again. I'd say that was established in great detail earlier, hmm? No no no, I have a much greater reason for what I am telling you.

As I was in my impassive state, I noticed a slight flicker of orange in the corner of my eye. I paused my activity and focused upon the interloper. A wasp. A rather large one, at that. It twisted its miniscule path through the air, issuing a quiet buzzing sound from the shutter of its wings. It spun once- or twicefold and landed on a tiny white flower, some of the only evidence that the patch of soil in front of me held any life at all. I marveled at the tiny beast. I was fascinated by its bulbous black eyes, and how alien they looked to me. How nice it must seem, thought I, to see so all-encompassingly. To speed off, near invisible, on ebony wings... going where you please and invading where you wish. Such freedom is enviable, would you not agree?

I gazed upon my miniscule friend for quite some time. But just as I was to lean in for a closer look, he (or she, one really cannot tell) was blasted away, by what seemed to be a sudden gust of white mist. I looked toward the source, and I perceived my grandmother, holding a tall can as though it were some sort of firearm. She locked the muzzle's gaze directly on the insect and fired once more, this time for a good three seconds. I quickly averted my gaze to the reciever, and was awed at once. There was it, throeing wildy, as though little flames were eating at its body that no one could see. It screamed in its curious, buzzing way and curled its legs into itself, as if to protect its body from the poisonous elixir. Grandmother lowered her weapon and watched the wasp, no doubt prepared to shoot it down if it tried taking flight. "Damn thing," she grumbled. "Coming into my garden."

I looked up at her. I am not sure whether an expression of awe or terror or maybe even a slight admiration was on my face, but it doesn't matter, I felt all three. She smiled down at me in an innocent way. "Are you alright, Ziiros? ... Well it wasn't really my fault, you know. Those things are pests, and they shouldn't be allowed to wander a garden free. Who knows what they'd do if I don't kill them? Now stop looking like that and let's go inside."

Oh, I went inside, but I did not sleep that night. I reviewed what had happened that afternoon with relish. I remembered the wasp, and how wonderful I found it. A symbol of freedom, it was, that could go anywhere and do anything it wished...

...But who said what it did was right? Why can it go anywhere, while everything else must succumb to gravity? As a matter of fact, why even be free if it only means being shot down at the whim of a wrong turn? I pondered all this in my bed at the age of four, make no mistake, my dear. ... Yes, I thought, why be free? Like Grandmother said: ‘why should they wander a garden free?' It'll just end up killing them, anyway.

But, it wasn't simply the philosophies of freedom that overcame me. It was control. Such a beautiful, lively creature one moment, and now cold and dead with no mourning or grave, being devoured by other creatures of the earth by now, no doubt. All by the spray of a white mist. Just for trespassing a garden. I knew it at once: this was the control I had always vied for. If I held such power just a year ago, Mother would be mine and Father's existence would be negligible. I had, as you would say, found my calling...

I surprised my grandmother the next day by telling her I would go out to work in her garden. She hesitated at first, but soon warmed to the idea. There is no resisting the sweet eyes of a cub that wants something, I found. As I egressed, an assortment of tools (plus the only one I really needed) in my paw, I heard her faintly soliloquize "Such a sweet boy" as a cladestine smile creased my face.

I kneeled by the patch of soil in the same spot I was in yesterday and took up the spray can. I turned it about in my paws, examining the surface of the chipped covering and feeling the noxious sloshing of Heaven-knows-what with each twist. I read the label. A product of... Garden Knight, I believe, guaranteed to "eliminate wasps, roaches and other household pests on contact!" I smiled as I looked upon the rather large illustration of some amorphous six-legged creature. It was being struck by lightning, the poor fool, with comical bugged eyes (no pun intended, of course). Its legs, once more, were curled inward in a parody of pain. What an amusing take on the death of a creature, would you not agree?

Well, as I chuckled quietly to myself, an interloper that I had promised myself arrived. In a feat of sure bravery among its brethren, a wasp much larger than that I had seen before landed upon the can just inches from my nose. The shock was so great, I yelped and threw the can up into the air, abandoning my only weapon against the creature. I saw as the can descended back to earth the wasp bound off, buzzing and spiraling about in an irate manner. Obviously the disturbance had enraged the little soldier, and as it set its spheroid glare upon me and darted forward in some effort to plunge its needle into me. I panicked. Of course as my first time in any sort of situation, why would I not panic? I fumbled my right paw around for the spray can, but it was nowhere within my grasp. In a haste of instinct, I batted the flying monster down into the hard earth with a swing of my paw. My head cleared, I looked more readily for the can and retrieved it. I turned to see my tiny comrade making other rush at me, in his unguided, instinctive rage.

My shot was dead on. With white mist discharged from the end of the spray can, the wasp sputtered onto the ground, emitting pitiful buzzes and squeals. I breathed hard. Perhaps, thought I, this endeavor was a mistake. Would it be wise to simply leave it and go inside?

But no. No, I could not do that. This little fiend, it- it attacked me! How dare it do such a thing to me! I never wanted to hurt it... Just to free it... But no, not now. Such dissension could not be so leniently dismissed. Not if I wanted power. The control. I crawled toward it, still writhing in its diminutive agony, the first vestiges of the God that would be blazing in my eyes. I sat above him, listening to it whine futilely at me. And out of perhaps the voids of space and time, a song from long ago rang through my ears...

"He's just a baby, you dumb bastard! How the hell is a baby supposed to disrespect you?!" A woman's voice, in a tone resembling a screech.

"I don't care shit that he's a baby!" A man, but mocking the first voice in the most childish way. "He needs to learn some goddamn respect! So shut up, you fucking bitch!" Blaring, like the woman's.

Those voices rebounded around my skull, like they were trying to break free. I panted and growled above the insect, bringing down the index finger of my left paw slowly down the body. It cried in its torture, curling into itself to make attempts at a piercing on my digit, but I cared not. I pressed harder on him and said the first thing that broke through my mouth--

"Shut up, you fucking bitch..."

With a massive effort, I ground my finger into its thorax. It did not scream. It did not buzz either. What instead happened was that quite literally exploded. Starbursts of red and yellow and black busted their way out of the insect's hard casing. The bulbous eyes indeed became bubbles, as they blew out like tires. I panted and growled, scraping what remained of its body along the almost solid earth, leaving uncoordinated brush-strokes on the canvas of soil. Oh yes, I had punished him well. Were he alive, he shouldn't have forgotten what I did! Not in years...

As the fire receded from my eyes, I saw clearly once more. Well, I saw clearly during its punishment, but now I saw clearly in a different, placid way. It was dead, most obviously, and I was alone by it. The voices that had screamed to me or at me were all gone as well. So I was alone with my mutilated little friend, my sight directed on him. My mortification gave way in mere minutes and a new feeling washed over me. A kind of pride in my work came upon me. Hahahaha, poor fool. He should have known better than to cross me. The damn thing decided even to assault me! The lack of confidence I had shown earlier was all but negated at that point, and a sweet, new clarity shone through. This was power, and power so great could not be confined to a simple weed-patch...

My outings became extremely frequent since that day: thrice weekly on a slow week. Grandmother was simply delighted by my enthusiasm, and how could I blame her? Finally I was as cheery as she demanded I be. I'm certainly a people pleaser, aren't I? Past the creaking of the door, I could always hear a sweet and bouncy "Have a good time", little knowing the motive behind my egression. And so I would spend the day seeking the wretched bottom-feeders that would dare transgress my garden, and gaining satisfaction from their punishment. But you'd know that, of course, if you were paying attention. No need to beat a dead horse, and trust me: I know you're thinking that too, so let's move on from my affairs with such low beings, eh?

Weeks from my first outing, in the June heat, I was once more delivering a final sentence, when from a split between the trees came... something else... Obviously now I know its identity, but at the time, I had no idea. It was a small creature, its fur ashy gray and with a peculiar bushy, black-ringed tail trailing it. It bumbled here and there around the alcovic yard on four black paws, digging a bit and in general, scrounging for food. I could see why, as well; it was amazingly thin! I could plainly see the being's ribs poking from beneath its smoky fur. But, sympathy to its reasoning or not, it had overstepped the boundary of my territory. And not only this, but this little... bottom-feeder... was digging and defiling my earth without consent. The outrage was immense! I rose slowly, eyes focused dead-on. I had perfected my glare over the past weeks- the helpless screeches and buzzes of the insects had told me so- and I had locked my full fury upon this interloper. It returned my stare with one of its own: one of an immense fear.

Like a bullet I rushed, and like another, it fled. Its route of escape was through the two trees where it first intruded. Ha! As if trees would stop my vengance! Though the trees were indeed thick, its scent was much too heavy to elude me. Even if I was to lose sight, my nose could beat its legs on any day. But it was in my sight all too clearly. It bolted this way and that, with me in close pursuit. Close enough, in fact, that I let my mind wander to the surroundings. They were all entirely new to me, much like the garden. And in a way, they were strikingly similar. But this place... the air was so fresh, and it was so vast. I took a glance upwards, and saw that the ethereal glow of the Sun through the twists of branches and leaves had not faded. In fact, it looked strengthened, if anything. The sensory overwhelmed me. Everything, from the dancing canopial light to the shatter of dead leaves under my feet, was amazing in a sense deeper than even the word itself. But it was then I remembered my purpose. Down, I looked, to see my target, and to see its pitiable state. Encumbered by hunger and exhaustion, it had indeed lost our race. In a burst of speed (inherited from thousands of years of survival by chasing, no doubt), the little beast was crushed under my weight, and crushed even further by the force of my jaws upon its throat, vibrating with cries and futile shakes. I didn't even need to rip! The symphonic crack of its broken neck was enough to tell me its punishment had come to pass...

I raised my lips from my lethal kiss. The pinprick fang marks showed me enough to see that I had indeed broken its miniscule neck. Once again, my glow was gone, and once again only a corpse accompanied me. But this one was different. There was a charm in this one. This blood-blossomed corpse seemed higher than my previous judgements. I gazed upon it with a wonder akin, but intensified, to any display of mine. A rotten thing, it was, my friend. Mangy fur, with a smell of ancient rot, and with insects crawling upon it. Only a few seconds after I killed it and the ground had come to claim it! I diverted my sight from it and beheld the vastness of the forest. The forest I knew at that very instant to be mine. No longer would I need a simple patch of Earth, for I had the Earth right here! And this forest was to be my punishing grounds...

As I relished the thought, a noise came to my ears. It was not the voice I had heard with the wasp, but it was close. A whisper from below me. But below me....

Down upon the forest floor was my only companion. And he grinned. He shined his putrid teeth right at me!

"Do you like it, my dear?" my rotten friend cooed. "This place is yours, isn't it, God?" Dear Lord, he was filthy. I could see his rotten ribs moving through a deep gash in its side, some imitation of breathing. I was perplexed, as I didn't create that wound, but before I could ponder it further, he spoke again...

"Surely you need assistance... Not even you could see all the forest, you know. You need help, and we of the forest can give it. To atone for our sins, we are your eyes, God..."

He was right, my friend, on both accounts. Such a title I did not think to call myself, but coming from another mouth, it was certain. I was God, and I needed more eyes than my own to oversee my forest...