The Bear's Fight

Get the monsters, rip out their hearts. Charge through the forest. Anger. Let your anger guide your unstoppable rampage, as you charge forth into the ranks of the invaders. Look at them. Watch as they swing their tools of metal. Ignore the attacks. Ignore the blood. Press on. Close your jaw around the creature’s neck. Squeeze tightly and end its existence.

            You are a bear. Fight like one. Let none stand in your way. Ignore the sting of the creatures' fire-scream-sticks, roaring like thunder with each blast of lightning fired. It can kill you, but not yet. Rip through the creature’s chest with savage abandon. Let its entrails run red, spill out. Crush its head with your mighty foot.

            More of the creatures have arrived. Roar and charge them. You are a bear. They are small. Weak. Trample them under foot.

            Ignore the pain in your gut. It’s only a wound. It will heal. You can’t see. They’ve blinded you with a chemical. Something unnatural. Flail your claws; stand on your hind legs. Look large. Look threatening. Scare them away.

            It’s not working. Their fire-scream-sticks are erupting, blasting away your flesh. Stand back up. Don’t remain on the ground. Ignore it. Ignore your blood seeping away, staining the soil red. Try to move. Lift a paw. Do something.
            But it’s too late. The creatures have won. Die calmly. Embrace the coldness of death. Die with dignity.