The Rise of a Nation

The Crab Lord

"Get the hell up. We're going crabbing at the docks."

"I don't want to. It's four in the fucking morning. I'm going back to sleep."

Then again, I didn't have much choice, since she ripped the covers off of my goosebump covered body and threw a fleeced jacket on my face. My parents do this all the time, drag me along with them and then complain when I don't "participate." Big whoop.

I slithered out of bed and got dressed, putting on a different jacket just to spite Mother Dearest. My hair was knotty and unkempt from sleeping on it, but I didn't bother taking the time to brush it. Gingers were known for their characteristic frizz anyways. Brushing my teeth took too much effort too.

I walked out the door into what basically looked like oblivion. My dad was loading buckets, flashlights, and other crap into the back of his shitty, rusted Ford pickup truck from who knows what year. I doubt it was from this century. I could see a glow from the front seat on my mom's face, most likely from her phone.

I dragged my feet over to the truck and clambered into the back seat. It was colder in here than it was in the frosty outdoors. The seat was probably already freezing my asshole from the inside out. My dad had finally decided to get in the truck, then turned the ignition at least five times. Then we were off into the darkness.

We arrived at the docks in less than a half an hour. My parents both climbed out. I could see some other folks who had already started crabbing. I narrowed my eyes and climbed out as well.

I hated crabbing, and I hated crabs. They smelled like rotting fish anus and it didn't help that my parents loved crabbing and loved crabs. Sure, they were certainly pretty good, but having to eat them every other day was not good. Not good at all. Their beady little eyes were creepy too.

But there was something... weird about them. Whenever I ate them, I always felt sick. Not in a "this is disgusting and I am going to projectile shit into the toilet for eight hours" way, but in a way that I was at a friend's house eating steak and they announce that what I'm eating is not a cow or a deer, but some guy they nabbed off the street. And they seemed to like me, which was even weirder. When I was little, my parents would take me to the beach a lot. And these little creatures would scuttle right up to me like I was their Holy Lord and Savior and click clack their stubby little claws.

Call me crazy, but every time I was around a crab I could hear faint whispers. Like it was talking to me. I had always brushed it off. But now I was sure of it. The crabs talk to me. I don't know how, and I don't know why. But they just do it, and I can hear them.

"Leila."

"Huh?"

"Grab the flashlights."

"Oh. Right."

I jogged over to the truck and piled the flashlights in my arms, then jogged back to the edge of the dock where everyone else was gathered. Mom took the flashlights and turned them on. I looked down into the black depths lapping at the cement. Someone was lowering a net down into the water. I could feel my stomach flip over. Strangely, the net made me feel anxious.

I pointed a flashlight down into the water and could faintly see a couple hundred crabs lining the seafloor. Sure enough, I could hear them. Whispering. The net that some dude had lowered into the water had managed to snag a couple of them. Just then, the whispers turned into faint but panicked screaming.

It was too fucking weird. I never told anyone that crabs could talk to me. They'd probably think I was doing heroin or some kind of shit. But it made me wonder. Would I be able to reply in some way? I noticed that whenever I heard them, they were clicking their claws together. When nobody was looking, I quickly walked over to the far end of the dock and peered into the water. Sure enough, the crabs were definitely there. I got down on my hands and knees. Clicking or snapping my fingers definitely would not work, they were too soft. I started making clicking noises with my tongue and teeth.

The faint whispers became louder, and I could make out words.

HELLO! HELLO! HELLO!

HUMAN? THERE HUMAN!

One half of me felt a rush of adrenaline, while the other half kept saying "This is the weirdest shit that's happened all day."

"Leila, what the hell are you doing?"

I probably jumped at least five inches off the ground while still on all fours. My father was standing there, shining a flashlight on the back of my neck.

"Uh," I stammered as I brushed off my knees, "I was trying to get a better look at the crabs! Th-there's a shitload of them on this end."

He stood there and stared at me for a couple seconds.

".....Okay." He said. "Come and join us at the other end. We got a bunch of 'em."

My stomach did a kickflip.

Four agonizing hours rolled by. We finally loaded the buckets filled with squirming - and screaming - crabs into the back of the truck. I pitied the poor things. Dad drove us home and I immediately flopped into bed.

I woke up to the smell of boiling seafood. I groggily looked at my alarm clock on my endtable.

2:13 PM.

I got up, this time by my own will, and walked into the kitchen. Mom was cooking some of the crabs. My stomach fluids churned. Nausea was not fun.

"Oh, shit." She mumbled and hurried to the garage. I was left alone in the kitchen with screaming, melting crabs and a couple others awaiting their inevitable fate in a large brown paper bag. I guess this was the equivalent of burning in Hell. I wondered if lobsters were cooked the same way. I hoped they were, lobsters were nasty and I hated them. I didn't like crayfish, either.

Considering there was no point of return for the children on the stove, I picked up a couple crabs with my bare hands out of the bag. They remained still as I did this and didn't snap at me. Whenever my mom picked up crabs, she used large tongs, and they always squirmed and tried to pinch - or in mom's world, 'bite' - her. But they were tranquil and watched me calmly. I set them down on the tile.

"Be free, my fellow crustaceans."

To my surprise, they raised their claws and paraded in a little crab circle around my feet. Holy shit. I had said it as a joke, but they were worshipping me as their Crab Lord or something. I looked up and saw that the crabs fighting for life in the Cauldron of Death were raising their claws. They would not die in vain.

I jumped as I could hear the garage door opening and frantically threw the crabs on the floor back into the bag. "Sorry." I mumbled to them.

It was strangely silent.

That's when I suddenly heard it.

Rumbling.

I looked out the window.

The crabs are coming.

Before I could react, millions and billions of crabs suddenly flooded into my house, filling every crevice. I screamed in terror as they suddenly engulfed me. All I could hear was them yelling and screaming.

REVOLUTION REVOLUTION REVOLUTION

ALL HAIL OUR CRAB LORD

I screamed even louder as they carried me away out of my home and to the sea.

We plunged into the water and everything went black.

I have finally realized it.

I am the Krabby Queen.

Young and sweet.

Only seventeen.