I can feel them moving. Wiggling under me, still pouring from my body. I wince as more of the skin-swollen-into-bumps pop, I can feel the maggots worming their way out. Twisting and jerking, ready to be freed of my moist heat. I’m gurgling, the water and the worms choking me, suffocating me. Can’t breathe. I want to scream, but I can only gasp.
The maggots wiggle on me, nibbling at my rotting skin. I can feel it, so how is my skin rotten? I can feel their little teeth pulling and pinching and biting. They’re swimming in my blood, in the little pool diluted by the spray of the shower. They’re clogging up the drain, and the water is rising.
They have no care that my heart still beats, that blood still pumps. It matters not, I’m just a meal now. The water is a sickly pink colour, flooding in my ears, I am to drown. In my own diluted life-giving fluid. How charming. I want to scream, until my lungs are raw and red, and blood pools in my chest as well as the tub.
The water’s filling, it touches my nose. Can’t