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About

"Welcome to my head. My thoughts, dreams and pretty much anything else that gets blurbed out."

the bug

Bouncing off the follicle lined walls at 343.2 meters per second it lands. Planting itself like unwanted neighbors at a beach on a romantic evening. You ignore it and choose to continue on with your present train of thought.

Festering in a way that would make gangrenous wounds seem normal, it begins to rot the mind. Tearing at your subconscious, just waiting for that brief moment of pause to unleash its torrent of puss filled worries. Meanwhile, you spend all night tossing and turning, hoping to get the drainage out of your head long enough to fall asleep. Yet it grows.

Finally, sitting at the table in the morning, you recognize it. You give it life for a brief period, hoping to satisfy this thing long enough for the invader to leave it's larva stage and exit you the same way it came. As a passing moment. 

It doesn't leave. You try again. Still there, now its just worse.

Finally, the larva retreats. Finding refuge in the back of your mind, you begin to think that you can live with just ignoring the mild gnawing sensation. "Yeah", you tell yourself. You can live with that.

Sitting in front of your computer, you begin to feel that gnawing sensation. You stop to contemplate the best way to go about ignoring it, and before you realize what has happened, your hand has begin clicking and typing. The gnawing feeling grows, first to a grinding, and then to a crescendo of ripping, tearing, gnashing and clawing. The back of your head splits, and your fingers fly over the keyboard in flurry of motion as a reflex. 

Boney fingers fill the split at the back of your skull and begin to pry. Grey matter seeps from the open wound, as the creature begins to pull itself free of its cocoon. From the membrane filled sack of your mind the thing emerges, covered in grey matter and translucent ichor it blinks into the light. 

You stare. It stares right back. The creature gestures to the screen, and you find yourself flitting your eyes to the monitor and back to the creature. Then it hits you, there were words on that page. Your eyes dart back to the screen as recognition sinks in. You wrote something.

The creature shrills at the top of its lungs; the first bleat of a newborn. Scrambling on all fours like Gollum it runs screeching from your office and out the door. Into the morning sun it runs as the creature bursts from the house in a torrent of wood splinters and shattered glass. 

You watch, in horror as the creature begins tearing it's way through the town, infecting all of those you know and are connected too.

You flee back to your computer desk and hover the mouse over the delete post button and... freeze. Do you kill this wondrous babe? The product of your own seed?

You smirk and click publish.


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The end.