I do not pretend to know the why of all things. I cannot say what force put me in this world, or why that force did so. I cannot say what force put all these animals in this world, or why that force did so. What I can say is that it is my blood purpose to find all of these animals and jam them in a ball or computer.
This island is long and narrow and teeming with life, and it is my one wish to take all of that life and put it my knapsack. Every living creature that wanders free in this beautiful land is a failure in my eyes. Every bushy tail that bobs gently above the tall grass is an infuriating reminder that my work is unfinished.
The creatures of the earth are not safe from me. The creatures of the waters are not safe from me. The creaturs of the sky are not safe from me. The creatures that are too esoteric to discern a habitat for are not safe from me. Though I am but a child, I will traverse this land by foot and bird and train until every ghost, every robot, every karate goblin, every haunted teapot, every fiery centipede, and every pair of flying cogs is has been tagged, bagged, and stuffed into a computer.
I shall stomp through every muddy corner of Ersatz England, I shall lift up every single rock to see if it is hiding a filthy animal that I can stuff into my balls. I will shine my torch in every cave, I will break into every abandoned building. From the lowest sea creature to the loftiest bird, I will digitise anything that moves and lacks the sentience to protest. I will call the bushes my home until my pocket computer tells me that I have captured them all.
By neglecting to or failing to escape from the ball or computer in which I have put them, the animal has signed a contract with me. The bargain they have struck is a simple one: They shall stay confined at all times in the Digital Nowhere Space, until I decide they are of use to me.
And here enters the great irony of our arrangement, for the use to which I shall put them to is the further subjugation of the other animals.
‘Kick!’ I shall command them. ‘Bite!’ I will demand. ‘Destroy!’ I will shout until my voice is hoarse. From the moment the ball snaps open and they are reincorporated — with not a millisecond to collect their thoughts — they will be set in opposition against whichever creature it is I wish to obtain next. The conflict may be bloodless but they will endure a Promethean torture of confinement, wakefulness, and unconsciousness over and over and over and over.
Perhaps it would be a comfort to these animals to believe that my actions were motivated by cruelty — a pathological antipathy towards their kind. Maybe it would be easier for them to understand their lot if they believed they were being subjected to a life of confinement and bloodsport based on some deep animus. At least, in being thought of so poorly, they are being thought of. But I feel nothing towards them. They are numbers on a list. A list which I feel compelled to arbitrarily fill.
For them, getting captured was the worst day of their life. But for me, it was Tuesday.
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