Been a while, no? Well, I've been busy, and I intend to do some housecleaning in my FF archive. So what, I hear you ask, do we have here? It's just a little something that came into my head while watching Godzilla 2000. Just some philosophical musings on Orga and its death. Enjoy.
Godzilla is © Toho
It can't be here. It just can't. That's how I rationalise it to myself.
That's why I'm going to stand here. That's why I'm going to stand by and watch it die. I know that there's nothing I could do to stop it anyway, but that just isn't the point.
My name is Yuji Shinoda. I have always held to one principle, one value that I keep close to me heart: that it is always, under any circumstances, wrong to kill a sentient creature. And now I'm going to stand right here and watch something die. I will stay here and feel no guilt as I watch the death of a creature that is no more than a half-hour old.
There is one simple reason for this: it is not a creature that belongs here. Because it's nothing but a mockery of life.
I have just watched it grow from nothing. For a moment, it was something amazing. Something wondrous and alien and ancient. Then I saw it mutate. I saw it turn into this shambling, warbling horror.
It's nothing but a biological failure. Its creators, or at least the beings that became this nightmare thing, were intelligent. Not just intelligent, but brilliant. They'd built a vessel that could cross the stars. They'd made mockeries of mankind's weapons. Their minds were so great that, in some form that can never exist in space and time as we know it; they lived on even after their corporeal forms had died. And with that kind of intelligence comes ambition. Dreadful ambition. So these ancient beings, no less than technological gods, sought out another god of flesh and blood, another titan.
Then they went too far.
They found the mightiest of the mighty, and then they were true scientists. They could see only the goal. Only the science. In the mind of that kind of scientist, there is only the experiment. There is nothing that says "this is unwise. I must stop now". That was what turns great men from geniuses into mockeries. With their great vessel as their weapon, these beings took the blood of the King of the Monsters, drew it into themselves and used it to regrow their physical forms.
In some ways, I am reminded of the myth of Prometheus. They had stolen fire from the gods. They had taken that which was not theirs to take. They paid the price when they could not control its power. They failed to see past their goal, and as their punishment, they became this mockery.
I'm not even sure if it's the same creature. All I know is that that is all it is. A mockery of life.
Its jaw is unhinged like a snake, as the serpent does before it swallows a prey even larger than itself. Its jaws are working their way forward, forcing Godzilla further into the membrane of the open mouth. Down past his shoulders now. There can be no mistake: it's trying to swallow him whole.
And it's doomed.
For a moment, I couldn't quite fathom why Godzilla, seeing it unhinge its jaw, had simply charged forward. He'd allowed it to begin consuming him. It was doing exactly what he wanted it to do.
It needed more of his DNA. Needed more of it to stay alive, because it can't live like this, not as it is now. Not as this mockery.
And that is why I feel no pity.
I am not glad that this creature will die any moment now. Like what it was before - I wonder, can it remember what it once was? - It could not see past its goal. Nothing inside it said "I must stop now."
Godzilla's spinal plates begin to glow. Orga's eyes open wide in a moment of shock and fear. Like the scientists it had been, now there is something inside saying "this is unwise", only now, when it is too late.
It begins to burn. If its mouth was free, I am certain that it would scream. The flames begin to burn their way out through its back.
In its last moment, perhaps it realises its mistake. But the whole reason I do not pity it is because it cannot.
It's just a mockery. A shambling, haphazard mass of genetic parts. Nothing but an experiment gone wrong, like a mould growing in a Petri dish. That's all it is: a mould. A spore. It has no heart, no soul, no mind. It came from nothing, and that is what it is. Nothing.
I squint my eyes shut as the brilliant, blazing explosion engulfs a full five city blocks. A pillar of swirling fire and smoke rises into the sky.
When the smoke drifts apart, only the burnt, dry, empty husk of Orga's lower body remains. It has paid its price. It has burned for stealing fire from the gods.
Godzilla watches it crumble. Only when the last of it is gone does he pull back his head and bellow his victory.
I watch the last dry fragments of it settle into a dull heap. I feel no pity.
And that's pretty much my interpretation of Orga, to be honest.
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