Nobody has a passion anymore. Be it through the gradual numbing of the mind because of on demand entertainment or the detachment of the average person to the world surrounding them, whatever. I don’t care, I have a passion.
It all started when I was a young boy, born in a terraced house in the north of England. I saw my parents gradually grow to hate each other through continual financial and emotional strain. As I grew older I saw them grow further apart. Issues unresolved. Zero dynamism or adaptation. I think that’s where I learnt that humans are past their prime. Problems consume us, illnesses ravage our weak bodies. We just don’t adapt like we once did.
Anyways, my cat got in a scrap with the next door neighbour’s, my parents were shook up and took him to the vet. He had an infection. He came home and lay on my bed next to me as I played my DS. That’s when a glimmer caught my eye. Thats it. The scratches. A metropolis of spores graced the deep riviera left by my cat’s nemisis. I edged near to the wound to get a closer look. A republic; a superorganism! A grand state led from nothing to achieve greatness and dominate it’s prey, despite being a millionth the size. I was a curious lad, I had to learn more, so a chucked the anti-biotic pills in next door’s bin and went to sleep. My experiment had commenced.
You can call me a freak, or a sadist, or whatever you want. I don’t care. I’m just picking a different side. What gives the cat a greater right to thrive than the bacteria? Neither want to coexist, so why should we humans involve ourselves to favour one side? Hiding the pills couldn’t work permently, so I came up with other ways to help my parasitic friends. Mints in the pill boxes. Skipping the dose when the cats in my room. I could keep this going until my soldiers won the war. Tissues of the feline eating machine expanded, pulsated until the spread was magnificent. The poor cat was losing the war. Viens of green, red, white and grey painted his flesh and I couldn’t get enough. I’d spend hours watching a world grow before my eyes. I was a god.
My fun ended when he was taken to the vets, but my eyes were dead focused on a bigger prize. I tried tiding myself over with morsels of microbial juvinility but I was fucking ravenous for more. Watching my army invade a bowl of ramen was hardly the victory I ached for. The ‘something’ isn’t quite as sweet when the eater enjoys an easy ‘something to eat’. My sweet guerilla forces deserved something a little stronger.
So I took to the streets. That way they couldn’t find me. No one could find me when I’m camping in the wild. My work was precise. Two incisions: one of a needle, found on the floor of an alley, the other of a knife, dropped from the table of a shitty breakfast place. On my arm: Adam, on my rib: Eve. So much is attributed to modern medicine, but one cannot say art. The dancing germs festered slowly. The cold environment of my tent didn’t help the fermentation process. I needed humidity.
The rats winced as I pincered them with that same creator that populated my planetary body. Watching the life squirm through my skin in their new sustaining environment was near orgasmic. What was meant to be a long weekend turned into days. What meant to be two incisions turned into thirty-four. My mangled body screamed for anaesthetic but each wave of pain symbolised the birth of a new generation.
You might judge me for what I’ve told you, or tell me to reach out for help. But my passion is for my babies. I am a father, a mother, a giver, a selfless paragon of undying virtue. I give my body to the swarm and they give me their unconditional affection. A just god does not sleep, so I do not, and my children have never been more grateful. Whispers of pleasure and the hustle and bustle of their cities have elevated me to beyond human. Though my body may be close to apocalypse, the meek will not inherit. I will evolve to the final form of giver as the bacteria become me and I am reborn as my children. Out of the strong, something sweet; out of the eater, something to eat.
Edit: few spelling errors