Listen very closely to what I am about to tell you; your life depends upon it.

Boxes will be the downfall of mankind. Notice I said ‘man’, not ‘woman’. I have yet to find a woman foolish enough to fall for the Deception. But boxes. Boxes will be the end of the world.

In a certain city, (I won’t say which because I don’t want to be responsible for the downfall and death of disillusioned fools that fancy themselves heroes.), there is a city, an underground city that exists in the side alleys and abandoned places of this world. This city consists of cardboard boxes.

The nouveau-riche of this city have mansions made of cardboard. Their boxes span yards and yards of feet; their manses stretch to three or four stories.

These nouveaux-riches rule over their little sections of the underground city; they loom over their neighbors like some feudal lord and lord their power over them as well.

They are the Deceived.

The city consists of men and men only. (I have yet to determine why this is, though it stands to reason that men are more susceptible to the wiles of the Deceiver because it so resembles the wiles of the woman.) They are charming and - no, just charming.

In their underground warren of a city, there is little light. (The Deceived have adapted to this thanks to the Deceiver and the Change brought about by the Deception.) Their eyes are large and round, taking up a great deal of their faces, with pupils so dilated that there is no white or iris to their eyes. (It is my belief that it is the eyes which facilitate the Deception and begin the Change.)

Their skin is gaunt and pale. It is pulled tightly across their frames, their faces most especially, creating the macabre effect of a grinning skull by revealing their yellowed and blackened teeth. And still, these men are charming.

The Deceived, in turn, become Deceivers, and amass their own collection of Deceived servants, which, for the most part, will remain as nothing more than Deceived humans. (The most frightening part is that the Deceived are genteel hunters; one does not associate with them – no, I say too much.)

I am not exactly certain when the Deceivers first appeared on Yrth, though it is fair to assume that they came in the year 3210, when the Treefos invaded the planet. Perhaps they were pets of the Treefos, (or more than likely the Treefos were pets to the Deceivers), or perhaps stowaways upon the Treefoian anti-matter ships, which, (surprise, surprise), were constructed of a heavy paperboard material the Treefos called homeskin, cardboard to Yrthians.

The Chroniclers have documented materials which place the first Deceiver sighting in the year of 3216. (Though now that I’m looking over these documents again, the Treefoian records show the first sighting as being in 3211; the Original Deceiver, in question, was spotted being carried on a lavish cardboard platform by an armed plantoon of Treefoian soldiers.)

It was cute, plump, and seemingly innocuous. Its body consisted of a flat-ish, triangular head, with large, soulful black eyes with no white or iris, like those of a bear. Its body was small and in the shape of the now extinct chipmunk, covered in dry brown fur with small grayish-white spots adorning its back and a patch of fluffy white fur on its chest.

The Deceiver has not changed much in the years that have passed. (As far as I can ascertain, it has not changed at all.) It is still cute, and plump, and seemingly innocuous.

It is anything but.

The Deceiver is the most dangerous, deadly, (and malicious), parasitic alien species to come to Yrth since the year of the 2052 Nergian Worm invasion.

320 years have passed since the Deceiver conquered mankind. The Resistance loses more and more of its precious males everyday to the mind-capturing gaze of the Deceiver and its Deceived zombie slaves.

It is the year of 333 AC in which I write this, 3530 AD in the official calendar. My ‘home’ is relatively safe from infiltration, all traces of cardboard promptly taken care of, all doors and windows constructed of plastiglass. The building itself is made of fire blackened mud, what was once called adobe, if my sources are correct.

I am the last remaining Chronicler. My line has slowly deteriorated into this: one lone man Chronicling the past, present, and recording hopes for the future.

Perhaps there are others in more secluded places, locked away in safety or as what the Resistance refers to as ‘Breeders’. I don’t know, but for the sake of all humanity, I hope there are.

Twelve years ago, my predecessor fell prey to the Deceiver. I have seen him only a few times since then, and each time was progressively worse. (It is my belief that the Deceiver sucks a man’s mind dry, and as his body slowly deteriorates, It devours small pieces of him as a supplement to Its staple food of cardboard.)

I have only seen what happens to the mind slaves of a Deceiver when the cardboard runs out once in my twenty-three years of life. It is not a pretty sight. The Deceived go mad and rage in the streets as wild animals. They wail that their Great God Wuggle will starve and punish them if they do not feed him.

The Deceived begin to offer themselves to the Deceiver as food, and the Deceiver eats them as if it were nothing.

I shudder to think what would become of one such as myself were I to succumb to this madness.

There is much more to say. I must Chronicle the lifespan, reproduction acts, and much more detailed anatomical things about the Deceiver. What I have presented you with is merely a brief overview.

The Deceiver is rightly known as a ‘wuggle’. They live for an average of -

Chronicler Vid-disk Ends
Please insert a new vid-disk or press Epsilon to repeat.

I frowned at the screen. There should be more, I knew, but the vid-disk just suddenly stopped there.

I hit the monitor with my fist. “C’mon, stupid thing, work!”

My efforts were, of course, in vain. All I succeeded in doing was bruising my hand and making the monitor screen buzz with gray static.

Why would the vd just suddenly cut out like that?

I sat and wondered about it for all of three seconds before declaring it too much of a challenge for my obviously inferior intellect.

The compound was a maze of paper hallways and cardboard furniture. I absently brushed my fingers over the comforting ridges as I walked past, delighting in the sense of completeness I felt when I touched it.

“Hello, Silariel, Morwena, Asher, and Thimble,” I murmured as I went past, caressing each sheet of paper in turn. “How are we feeling today?”

I smiled at them and nodded.

“Yes, yes, I understand perfectly. But you don’t need to worry. It doesn’t hurt. It’s such a wonderful feeling, actually. Just ask Tomoko.”

I frowned at them. “What do you mean Tomoko isn’t the same?”

I drummed my fingers on Silariel.

“Oh,” I said, suddenly understanding. “No, no, it’s the most wonderous thing in the world! Tomoko is experiencing the great and vast pleasure of serving! I swear, you’ll love it!”

I giggled as I picked Morwena up.

“Oh, Mor, don’t be like that. Didn’t I say it was a wonderful experience to serve?

“Just think of all the good you’ll be doing by volunteering like this!”

I don’t think Morwena agreed with me. I frowned again as we walked down another paper hallway.

“Mor, stop saying things like that! You are not going to die and you are not going to become some puppet! You’re just going to help feed the Creator. Don’t you want to serve the One who made you?

“Look at me. I’m serving and I’m happy.”

I scowled.

“Yeah, well at least I’m still walking on my own! I have to carry you and the others around all the time!

“Why can’t you lug your own lazy butts around?

“Oh, yeah, I forgot. Because you resisted and now you’ve been demoted to nothing more than Feeder.”

I think Morwena didn’t know what to say to that, because she was quiet through the rest of our walk.

We finally came to the Resting Place of the Creator and I couldn’t help the smile that blossomed across my face.

“Great One,” I said happily. “I brought you a new Feeder. Her name is Morwena and I really think you’ll like her.”

The Creator yawned and looked up, blinking his big black eyes at me. His fur was silvered and soft. I approached him humbly and placed Morwena at his tiny little feet.

He stared at me and such a wave of intense pleasure thrilled through me that I collapsed to my knees and cried from the sheer joy of it.

“I knew you would be happy, Sire.”

The wuggle merely blinked and began to eat the stack of paper I had brought to him.

/Author's Notes/

This story was very rushed. It's supposed to be my final assignment for Creative Writing and it was due on Friday, 5-16-08. At the time, I only had about a third of it finished and my teacher gave me a 50 for it, but said if I brought him the finished copy on Monday, (tomorrow), then he would fix my grade. So I finished it today but decided that it needs work.

At least it'll get me an A in class. . .

Please R&R. I'd really like to fix this one up because it's kinda humorous and cute. Again, if you have any questions/comments/suggestions for it, please feel free to message or e-mail them directly to me. I always enjoy reading reviews, even if they tear apart my work. So that means don't be afraid to say something's bad if it's bad.

kkthxbai.
- TC