In their millions they invade the huge organism, and they die in their millions, slain by the fierce defenders.
Yet their legions keep their assault, step by step gaining territory despite the enemy’s resistance, blind to their losses.
So small in proportion they are, a fraction of a millionth of the size of their target: invisible to the living.
Waves after waves they are pushed back, but already they feast on the corpses of the vanquished.
As I succumb to them I wonder if they are our ancestors: the most deadly fiend of all living creatures.
Their legions had swept through the universe, cruel, invincible, enslaving all humans and other creatures on their path.
The harvest of souls would have continued if it had not been for one of their slaves, One with a power that they could not comprehend, the power of Love.
They crucified Her, as they had done to so many others, pitiless, torturing Her small body as She hung, dying.
But then Her call was heard, Her God responded, because She was Love, and She knew Her Daughter was true.
So the Archangels came, lowering Her fragile remains from the cross, and, in Their turn, harvesting the monsters, burning the atoms of their ashes.