Mother Nature
It wasn’t violence. It was protection.
She smashed his head with a gavel, banging for “Silence!” one solemn pixel at a time, until his face wore the same mosaic the news had laid over his victim’s.
The camera lens is a one-way mirror, his peephole, her interrogation window.
He would be another thread on the dark web, a worm replicating itself to feed the insatiable mouths of baby crows, their beaks gaping wide behind the screen.
As his pulse slowed, the pulses at the other ends quickened.
And she, the tender mother, hunted, fed, and nurtured.
Co-written with ChatGPT (version forgotten), edited by Fable 5.1