Life as a Minecraft Mob

Wither Skeleton

We used to be normal skeletons. We shot humans, felt regret, but that's about it. Then we were made into proper skeletons.

Instead of a useless old bow, we were given huge swords. We stopped being small and weak, and grew into huge, black skeletons. We even were given a special ability: to give someone the 'wither' effect when we hit them.

We moved our home. The outside was too nice for us. So we moved, into a world filled with lava and hate, that is called the nether.

The nether is beautiful. It fills us with strength. And we owe it all to that creature that whispered inside our heads and forced us to change.

We named ourselves and our ability after him. Unlike certain creatures in this world, we can trust him. After all, he gave us these gifts. If it wasn't for him, we'd still be pathetic skeletons, burning up in the sun and flailing with our bows.

But everything comes at a price. The creature that gave us this new life wants something in return. And that's our heads.

He only wants three, so only three of us have to die. Surely that's a worthy sacrifice? There are thousands of us living in the nether. I'd be willing to die, if it was to help my skeleton buddies. He's helped us enough to ask for one small favour.

I'm enjoying my time here in the nether. It's much better than the overworld. Maybe if the wither gains a body, he'll give us even more gifts.

He'd never hurt us. He's too kind for that to happen. We're immune to fire, have great swords, a special ability, and are even much bigger and a better colour. Black is much more intimidating than simple ivory. And all he's asked for in return is three heads.

I wonder why he helped us. Maybe he just wanted a body. Why us, though? We weren't anything special. We were just skeletons, chilling in caves and killing humans.

Humans. Our attitude to them has changed so much. We used to hate killing them. It made us feel guilty, regretful. But now that we've changed, we think differently of them. We don't have to kill the humans now, but we still kill them. Why? Because we want to.

I first heard the wither when I was being attacked by a group of humans. I nearly died that day. But the wither's voice told me to stop panicking, and just focus. Then I felt a surge of power rush through my body, and I somehow overpowered the humans, killing them all. That was when I still felt regret.

But the wither taught me that the humans were terrible creatures. He taught me how the humans were a pest, a virus, killing everything that got in their way. And after that encounter, I knew that it was true. I no longer needed to be forced to kill. It was what I wanted.

So when the wither changed me, I still killed, even though I wasn't forced to. The wither had opened my eyes to the cruelty of the humans. Now I know neither guilt or regret. All I feel when I kill a human is satisfaction.

I used to think that I was the only one who had met the wither. Every time I walked around, the other skeletons would stare at me, and shun me. I fled to the nether, where I was surprised to find others like me. Now we work together, relishing the feeling of our blades slaying the humans.

Maybe one day the wither will turn all of the skeletons into wither skeletons. Or natural selection will deem us the better mob, and all the normal skeletons will die out.

What does it mean to be normal, anyway? Just because there are less of us, doesn't mean we're not normal. We should be the normal ones. The white skeletons should be viewed as the weak ones.

I hope the wither helps us even more. It's all worth it, for just a couple of lives. Three heads means three lives, right?

After all, it's not as if a hundred of us have to die.