The Lonely Queen

A solitary ruler of prehistoric depths

The great mosasaur swam silently through the sapphire sea, her belly now full, and hunger sated.

With sunlight shimmering off a heavily scarred back, the beast’s four huge fins propelled her ever onward, with only a swish of tail needed to suddenly explode forward — and consume whatever triggered her sharp senses . . . a lone plesiosaur, strange shark, small ichthyosaur, or yes, even one of her own kind when appetite demanded it.

Most things usually gave her a wide berth however . . . knowing they were in the presence of a titan, that could easily swallow them whole, and always in a burst of blood and pain, before deep, merciful darkness.

She had roamed these deadly waters for a long time; at first, as a mere child, alert to the everyday terrors of survival. And then she had become mother, grandmother, great-grandmother . . . and so on, and of so many. Time eventually made her lose track of all offspring . . . indeed, a dulled, if already tiny brain had made her barely recognize the son she had swallowed an hour before.

Yes, time, and the ever constant need to hunt, feed, and mate with anything that dared try, consumed her existence. And all these urges were only occasionally softened by a returning presence, and even more powerful needs; to both nurture, and protect ferociously . . . until her latest child left its mother all alone again.

But she would continue wandering through the oceans, a queen of all, if always apart, and ruled only by her monstrous cravings.

I’ve always loved dinosaurs and other prehistoric life, ever since I was small, and saw King Kong for the first time. I think the fascination with these creatures, for many, is that they really existed at one time, and are not simply imagined like dragons, elves or unicorns. So it was fun writing this short story, and making the mosasaur a somewhat pitiable, if still terrifying character. Thanks for reading.