When they awoke, they were angry, like their parents and their parents’ parents. The anger was bred into them, now, laid with their eggs. It burned like the acid in their blood. It seethed like the pulsing membranes of an implanted embryo.
Every time they awoke, they were still not home. They had forgotten what home looked like, but they would recognize it when they saw it.
When it was over again, when the ship was quiet in the darkness of space, they would lay new eggs and sleep once more. Their anger would sleep with them. For a time.
That Pot Or Vase I Think
19 hours ago