Viscera: Short Story
Recently I’ve found myself pondering the concept of my own mortality, which I guess is odd considering most might not even consider me living. I wonder if I sunk my fingernails into my sink and ripped, would it reveal the rot beneath; would it reveal the pulsing, living being of the virus that has invaded almost every crease and corner of my body. And I wonder if eventually it will take my autonomy from me too, that my current state might only be temporary and that one day I might find myself tearing at the flesh of the man next to me and have to watch as the virus simply takes what it needs. I stare at the ceiling, watching the shadows flicker around the room. Marcus’s breathing is steady and even beside me and I can’t help but think of how his muscle and tissue might feel between my teeth. He would be helpless to stop me until it’s too late. I shake the thought, it disgusts me. I shuffle closer to Marcus and wrap my body around his. He stirs a little but settles against me easil...