Prompt Day #80: I’m a parasite. Describe a day in my life.
By now, you should know that I can’t just do the simple task of following the prompt exactly. After all, one day in the life of a parasite would be fairly boring. But the lifecycle of a parasite from his point of view might be more interesting. Especially when your a parasite that crawls out of children’s butts at night only to get scratched up and ingested by that same child again and again. hehe. enjoy.
You ever hear the curse “Eat shit and die”? Funny, right? Not so much when that’s a description of your life. My parents lived in the slums. Sewage all around them. They lived in it. They ate it. My father died there leaving my mom alone and stuffed full of eggs. She worked her way through the system and did her best to feed all 15,000 of us as we grew in her belly. She wanted something better for us. She wanted us to breathe fresh air; she believed oxygen would help our little bodies grow strong. For weeks she worked and ate until finally she saw the light at the end of the tunnel. It happened to be a nightlight and she fixed her eyes on it. She wriggled through the tight folds of tissue until finally, she got through. The clean air and beautiful glow of the light brought a smile to her dying face. Yes, my mother worked herself to death just to escape and give us a chance at a better life.
There, just outside what my species calls the asshole of the world, she left us to grow. To live the life she couldn’t. She hoped we’d hatch and maybe escape the vicious circle of life. Just before she died, our mother whispered “be still and grow strong my little ones. Watch out for the hand of fate. For if it discovers your happiness, it may swipe you up and send you back to the bottom from whence you came.”
We tried to follow her wishes. But the oxygen felt so good and we squirmed and wriggled about in our little eggs. We never believed we’d have to live the same life as our parents. We thought we’d get the chance to travel to porcelain lands or maybe see a sandbox. But no; the hand of fate with its chubby little fingers and dirty booger filled nails came down from above and swiped us up. Before we could get away, we were swallowed up into the darkness. Down and down we went, pushed along by the peristalsis of destiny. We were born into a bilious cesspool where we knew if we stayed, we’d drown in the filth. We traveled to our homeland, to Dad’s grave. We grew, maturing on the journey, understanding that the life our parent’s had lived wasn’t something to be ashamed about, it was a life of hard work, a life of eating shit and dying, but maybe that is what we were meant for.
There, in the lands where my father met my mother and where he died, I met my mate. Promising her I wouldn’t leave like my father. I was still strong and young. I thought I was at least. But there, where we started our family, where the going got tougher, I grew weak. Now, I’m here, dying like my father with nothing but the appendix to keep me company. I’ve sent my mate on, her belly full of our children. Go, I tell her, climb the tinea, traverse the suspended bridge of colon, and descend towards the light at the end of the tunnel. I told her to seek the warm, blue glow of the night light. It is a beacon of hope. Hope that my children may escape the hand of fate and have the adventures I never could. I hope they play in the sand box or even hatch to see the inside of the pre-school. But none of that is for me. Me, I’m just going to stay here, I’m going to eat shit and die.