They’re everywhere. If anything owns this planet it’s not us. It’s Them.
Skittery legs, thousands of them, little feelers, tiny sharp translucent suckers that eat dead meat and shit. Insects are the original scourge of humanity. Remember the Lord of the Flies, remember the King of Maggots. They’re easy to dismiss but really your greatest fear is you’ll wake up some night with one burrowing down your throat.
They’re the enemy. They have no mind, they have no brain. The form a heaping pile of writhing bodies running on automatic. Little bodies tumbling off of each other, endless gnawing.
Now remember this. The strongest force in the universe is not technology, or truth, the atom bomb, or true love. It’s magic. Dark deep magic, gnawing underneath your skin. They’re something harder, colder, simpler than you. They’re not burdened with thoughts, or wants, or fears. They’ll maggot their way deep inside you down to the hole in your stomach. They’ll fill your veins with dark thick stringy wormy bodies, clog your heart, strangle your brain. Let them. Feel the pulse of their legion down to the deep seat of your groin. When you swallow, like a throat filled with marbles remember the hard shiny shells you cough up, making you invincible. Invincible to pain, to desire, to fear.
Everything has some magic in it, but the Them that lives in you has the strongest. It’s older than any other, older than fur or claw or warm red blood. They were here first, and they’ll be the last to leave. Keep that in mind.
Prompt by Writing Excuses: Bugs are magic