Parasites

He hadn't felt himself for some time. All he cared about was food, food and finding a safe place, a safe place to eat the food. He couldn't even remember his own name. But that didn't matter, he didn't need a name, he just needed a safe place to eat the food.

He could feel them moving inside him. It didn't hurt, he didn't feel anything. Except hunger, and love.

He'd collected lots of food. Bread, meat, rats, dogs, children. He ate, ate it all, gorged himself, but the hunger never left, so he ate more.

He could smell the stink of the place, the stink of shit and rot. He didn't care. He just wanted to eat.

He ate.

When all the food was gone he went to get up, to get more food and bring it to his safe place. But his legs were gone, the soft bodies of the things inside him languishing where once meat and sinew lay. But still the hunger and the love tormented him, so he chewed at the flesh of his hands and arms, gulping down the corrupted tissues.

He laboured for breath as the things inside him began to nibble at his lungs, coughing blood, gasping, then watched in dumb ecstasy as the maggots chewed through his thin bag of skin and emerged, slick with his fluids. With love, his vision dimming, he adored their forms as they wove cocoons, drawing silk threads from alien glands.

They were beautiful.