Classic Tell me we aren't humans

#1
This story was posted by an anonymous author over at 8chan's /tg/ board on 20-07-15.

[HFY thread]

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"What makes a human, anon?", he asked, clacking his pincers together.

"You see, they called themselves humans. They called ourselves the great antihumanists, the abominations, the monsters.
They just modified themselves into something they call greater. A higher power, an ascended humanity. "Angels", they called themselves, with their perfect, soft skin. "Empaths", they called themselves, when they could fucking speak. And fuck us, right? Such a pretty name, empaths…
Do you think they are?

Do you really think they are so full of this 'empathy'?

They had no empathy for us. They showed no trace of empathy when we stood against their meddling with our souls. They showed no trace of empathy when they forced every single us not fast or desperate enough to transmute into what we are now towards their grandiose "ascension". And now we're the monsters - and they show no empathy towards monsters, you've seen it in the last attack."

"The so-called-humans - our dearest "angels" - have become this giant blob of consciousness, you see. They have modified their very soul, they have altered and betrayed their essence to all become part of this great interconnected mind that thinks about everything and nothing at all. Have you ever seen one of them? Talked to one of the "ascended"? Sure, they can't exactly talk, but you can hear them inside your head. You hear them speak - you hear them suggest in a thousand voices - and they all speak the same, sound the same, feel the same, think the same.

It's no wonder, when you think about it. Just imagine: They can SEE how each other feel. They can project on the other's very senses what they mean. They can suggest the action they want to everyone else - if there is such a thing as "one" among them, that is…

They have no limited physical body, and irrestricted access to each others bodies, minds and hearts. They are all open books, strung together in circle - with nothing to hide, nothing of different, nothing particular or individual, no beginning and no end. They have nothing that gives them away from the collective, they are the collective, and the collective sees - and the collective wants - as one. The collective wants everything, and nothing at all. The collective wants to assimilate us - and you - to think together with its grandiose and wonderful joint empathic conscience about how absolutely fucking great it is to be together with all your fellow 'men' in transcendental abstract nonexistence.

They have everything: They need not feed, they just spiritually power themselves up. They need not talk, they can feel everything about everyone and suggest everything to everyone at any moment. They need not move, they can just will one of the disposable bodies to be wherever they need. They need not want, because they can project all pleasure they could ever possibly desire on one another, see all happiness and sadness, and suggest better feelings. They need not fear, as secrets no longer exist, goals no longer exist, pain no longer exists, death no longer exists, life no longer exists. They need not think, not too hard. No one should think too hard."

They have nothing at all - and yet, they call themselves true humanitarians, the very best of humanity, the humans of purest, sublime, ascended essence."

"We? We don't have everything. But at least we do have something. We hide in the caves, we fight and win and lose and die. We die, do you understand? I lost my soft skin long time ago - changed my body so they couldn't assimilate my mind and "ascend" my soul. We transmuted our soft exterior into hard exoskeleton, made our hands into claws and pincers to climb and dig hard rock, made our lungs able to breathe this hot, sulfurous air, made our stomachs able to withstand the minerals of this new planet, made our females lay eggs, many at a time.

The youngsters click in incredulous laughter when we tell tales of women shaving their legs to feel pretty. The new generations hatch - and I'll cut and cook the limbs off the first fucker that say they aren't born. I was there when my wife gave birth to my sons, their little pincers and many legs bursting from their little eggs with all that hard carapace that, I hope, will protect them in the future. Through their tiny click-clacking mouths, they speak. They speak "daddy" when I come home.

Now, come on, tell me.

Tell me we aren't humans.

We may be monsters, we may be their "abominations", but we are more human than any of them are: We are born, we fight and feel and want, and we die. Our hearts are human, our souls are human, even if our bodies aren't so; we live each as a human would, and we die as humans do. Every human dies.

We do.

They don't.

By wanting to ascend, to empathize, to love unconditionally and never want for nothing more, they have all entered this mindless, shared, blissful coma.
Because we wanted to remain as pure humans - dreamers, wanters, workers, fighters, leaders, individuals - we were forced to leave behind our appearances and homeland. But we won't leave behind what we want, what we believe in, what we are.

I dare you, say I am not human.

They have all become one, you see? They have abandoned humanity to become God. Not "Gods", they didn't - all of them became A God, singular.

Way I see it, God must fucking die.

… but I'm sure we'll manage, we've been through worse."
 
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