This was the last week of my life. My doctor told me my next life begins next week. They told me I’d live as a sod-dwelling nematode. That turns me on, a lot.
The nematode was in a silty clay loam, but he really preferred a more moist environment like clay silt. I hope that by next week when I take over his life, he will have moved to a better home. That way, I can start my new life on the right foot.
One thing I’m really excited about is drinking swamp water with my nematode buds. I did it a lot as a human, and I’m pretty sure that kind of skill will translate over pretty easily. Swamp water just has all kinds of vitamins and minerals that “purified and deemed safe” water doesn’t provide.
The nematodes squirm inside my stomach as it begins to bulge. I feel my future within myself growing and devouring my current and soon-to-be prior self. I drink from my toilet to accelerate the process.
I busted through a mental blockade that has plagued my entire childhood. “You’re not good enough to be a nematode. Go back to having higher thoughts, loser!” he’d scream, but who’s laughing now? “Fuck the haters,” I thought, as I wiggled away.