Does anyone in the Minecraft world really think about why ghasts
are crying? No, not really. All they seem to think is, Wow! Those tears
will be great for my potion! Well to all of those Minecrafters out
there, listen up. Everyone needs to stop treating ghasts like they’re
just fire-spitting crybabies. We’re so much more.

It all started when I was a young little ghast…


  
“Momma Momma!” I yelled, straining my voice. “Where are you?”. My
parents had always been crying. I never knew why, and sadly, I never
asked. I cried too. Tears, streamed down my face and I had no power to
stop it. It just happened. My mom told me it was to relieve stress, but I
didn’t believe her. I knew it was something more important. Sometimes, I
heard my parents whispering behind my back. I didn’t have the best or
hearing but I could pick up phrases, “No! She’s not ready.” And “She’ll get scared.” I
started getting curious. I wanted to find out what they were talking
about. I was plenty brave to hear the truth. Well at least I thought I
was.


     I never got the chance to find out what happened on my
own before my parents approached me. “Honey,” They said in unison. “We
need to tell you something very important.” I acted surprised, as if I
had no idea what they were talking about. “The real reason why ghasts
cry so much is because” My dad went silent. I turned around to hear the
quiet footsteps of an approaching Steve.


     He just wanted to
keep me safe. Unfortunately it cost him his life. My dad shot a fireball
at Steve, but he didn’t know of Steve’s skills. He blocked it,
shielding his face with his sword that shined bright, reflected the glow
of the streaming lava. My dad’s defense shot back at him. He didn’t
panic like you would expect. He just kissed my forehead and accepted his
fate. It was the first time I have cried and really wanted to.


    
It was just me and my mom after that. She never did finish her
conversation she was having with me and dad before that cruel day. She
raised me well, always by my side when I needed help, but also trusting
me. Finally one night before bed, she said she wanted to tell me a very
special bedtime story. Her soothing voice calmed me and I listened
carefully.


     Once, very long ago, the nether was a happy place.
Yes it looks evil, with the lava and fire, but we loved it. This was
all before that dreaded portal arrived. The pigmen were sweeties because
there was no one to aggravate them. The blazes, man they had the best
parties. And the ghasts? Well not once had they shed a single tear.
Until one day. In the middle of one of the blazes fantastic
get-together, everyone froze. A blood curdling shriek echoed through the
air. It was an innocent ghast, slaughtered by a Steve. Steve somehow
figured out a way to access our home. The other ghasts tried to yell,
but all that came out were enormous balls of flames. The pigmen wanted
to greet him, be friendly. But once Steve raised his sword to one of
them, they went berserk. The blazes released powers they never knew they
had. It was a mess. After that, the ghasts cried. They cried longing
for those days when there weren’t any Steves to harm them. Now it’s part
of our nature.


“So yeah.” She said. “That’s why ghasts cry.”


    
I stared at her for a while. She had kept this from me for years, and
now she was telling me in a bedtime story like it was nothing? I was
really confused.


     That night I had a dream. The Steve had come
back, and killed my mother too. I woke up to myself yelling, “Momma
Momma! Where are you!?!” My pillow was stained with tears just like they
always were. Except these ones were real.