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smiling-inside — Sycophant
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#horror #parasites #story
Published: 2016-02-01 03:28:58 +0000 UTC; Views: 421; Favourites: 1; Downloads: 0
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Fucking kill all of them. I hate all of these fucking vermin. Why do they deserve to live?
They don’t do anything. They leech off of us, we just fucking go with it. Sure, they usually leave after some time, but then what do they do? Go bother someone else. Live with someone else. Live off someone else. Use someone’s bodies as a host again. Another means to reproduce.
I fucking hate them. With their bald bodies, we feed them, give them our work, and without realizing it, we practically devote or lives to these fucking parasites, mistaking them for pets.
Literal parasites. Grow in us and live by us. They leave the host, and then a kind of reverse Stockholm syndrome takes place. Something that was forcefully living inside of you, crawls out and you decide that it wasn’t such a burden after all, maybe you should take care of the sycophant, take care of it until it reproduces and sets another of theirs in another host.
Bullshit. When something decides to infest your body, you exterminate it.
I learned that I had one inside of me, too. The moment I saw the signs, I went from doctor to doctor to help me, just get it out of me. But they all insisted that it was harmless. That it could be dangerous to remove it at the stage of growth it had reached. And I couldn’t do it myself, apparently. I would bleed too much. They gave me physio-therapy to make it easier to deal with the filth inside of me, stealing my body, growing inside of me. Gave me therapy with others living with this condition, explaining that even though it felt like it, it wasn’t a permanent ailment.
I fucking hated it the whole time it was inside of me. I could see it under my skin, growing constantly. I hated it so much. A few times I came close to simply carving it out of me, but like the clever insidious insects they are, they know to grow and feed near the major arteries. The times were hardest near the end, when I felt the twitches.
Luckily I knew what to do when it came out of me. It’s inevitable that the pests leave your body to mature and reproduce, so I waited. The process is often too agonizing to go without being completely numbed in the area of growth and emergence but I didn’t want to get help from the people who forced me to keep it inside me anyway.
When it finally came out of me, I felt not a shred of sympathy as I rose and left it writhing on the floor.
I’ve heard that the things use hormones to make us more likely to attach to them, but I wasn’t having any of it. I don’t give a fuck what it wants me to feel. I was sick and in pain and I fucking hated it there. So I picked it up out of the puddle of my blood, and hobbled over to the kitchen. Had the blender plugged in already, fully prepared for what I was going to do.
I just about managed to fit it in the blender, barely. The thing took enough of my blood to inflate itself to a point where it was just partly hanging out, but I didn’t mind getting a little bit of mess on my kitchen counter, since it all belonged to me anyway.
Even though logically, all the bone, hair and blood belonged to me, and its screams were just to make me feel bad, I still felt like I was killing a person. I knew at that moment just how powerful this vermin was, as I saw its face shredded my own blood and the blades.
I spent all my life avoiding having one of those parasites inside of me. I did everything we were told to do to avoid it. I took no risks. But my uncle just decided to throw all caution to the wind. He knew it would be me to carry it in any case, because men don’t have the parasites. Just women. And by the time I knew about it, it was too late to remove it. And no matter how much I hated him for it, I couldn't do anything about it, because it would be illegal to remove the pest.
I feel no regret for what I did. I put the baby in the fucking blender and I exterminated an individual of epidemic.
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Comments: 4
Your writing blows my mind. I wrote something called... wait...what was it called..... The Shanty Town, but it's buried under all sorts of seemingly opinionated crap in my journal so i doubt it will ever be read. I only mention it because I have had the ability to write for a long time, but just didn't care to. Shanty Town was really the first thing i ever wrote with any kind of passion. Your writing reminds me of the passion I needed to have to give a shit enough to write that. I lost interest in writing after I lost a novel i was working very hard on.
I was working on a book once called, well, I forget what it was called, but it was awesome. It had many threads of causality in it, so I mapped it out much like how Stephen King had to in The Stand, or Needful Things. I didn't lay out the story, so much as the lines of causality and the connections between certain elements. It was funny, but sharp. It was about a person who died by having a brick fall onto his head and he went on this bizarre trip through all these dimensions, each with small history of each other, and tied to each other in purpose. One world was within a single tear that was sliding off the face of a woman, and another was in the fibers of a prada bag, and another was in the rust of an old lantern, while yet another was in a single spark, flying off of the lantern. One was in a spec of dust on the back of a hand of a man who was hugging a man, and it was completely left open as to why that was taking place, but there was a mysterious prophecy among the people of that dimension that when the hand of the man holding the man falls, the world will fall into darkness. That specific dimension was extremely fun to write, because it was a desert world, and i felt like i was reading something out of C.S. Lewis' Space Trilogy when reading it back, or L'engles description of journeying into mitochondria. It was a very odd, that one. Each dimension had a full life to it, and an ecosystem, and no matter how short-lived in human perspective, each one had a full universal existence with its own paradigm and time spans (in other words, the denizens of each lived a full life). There were many dimensions, and it was fun creating the connections between them, using the structure of the objects the dimensions were located on or in, to create a mood and atmosphere unique to each one.
I had that stupid book backed up in three places while working on it, but in a single day I lost all three back ups, due to accidents. I have always insisted that there is such a thing as luck, because i have the worst luck, ever. When I lost that, I lost all interest in writing. That novel was my baby. So Shanty Town was a surprise.
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Shit. I've lost work before, but never that much. I lost the same comic three times in a row once but I don't feel that compares to losing that story.
Also if you want to upload stories to your gallery instead of your journals, you can. I can give you a step-by-step if you need it- I needed it.
👍: 0 ⏩: 0
I had fun writing it, haha.
And thank you very much.
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