as-rynse

[as-rynse]

making a mountain out of a wormhole

Perhaps this was some great cosmic test, thought the mole bitterly. It was just his luck to have caught this blasted cold only days before the great feast. He was distraught. In fact, distraught did not even cover the depths of his devastation. He was completely beside himself. In the last 5 hours of digging, the mole had managed to capture only 7 measly worms - barely enough to feed himself for the duration of their approaching night of revelry. 

“Oh maggots!” bemoaned the mole. What was he to do? He did not think he could suffer the humiliation of bringing fewer worms than even old Aunt Linda (who had become rather useless ever since the sprinkler incident of ‘09). 

The mole was wandering about in the softly packed earth rather despondently as he attempted to decipher the meaning of the half-formed signals emanating from his blocked, snotty nose. When, at that moment, the suggestion of a whiff of a worm wiggled its way up his left nostril. The subtle scent was almost lost amongst the host of self-flagellating thoughts running through the mole’s mind - when, suddenly, he caught it! It was a smell like no other! A most sweet fragrance that he could not help but to follow to its source. 

“Oh, joy!” exclaimed the mole rather loudly, before he quieted his tone so as to not scare off his prize. “I’ve got you,” he whispered to, what he assumed, was an unsuspecting worm. The mole began to dig with great alacrity, tiny hands shovelling many grams of dirt out of his way before, quite suddenly, he was falling. 

Down, down, down… Until he landed in an undignified lump on the floor of a large,  cavernous room.

“What under the earth is-” the mole began, feeling  quite sore and rather sorry for himself at this unexpected turn of events. But he halted mid-sentence as the smells of the room washed over him. 

As previously mentioned, the mole’s nose was not performing at its best at that current moment. But even the snot-riddled nose could not block out the scent of the most delicious worm that must have been laying not more than 10cm before him. What it was doing in this abandoned cavern, the mole did not know, and nor could he bring himself to care. Instead, the elated mole began to approach the worm, sending up a small prayer to the gods above, thanking them for his luck, when he was, yet again, halted midstep. This time, it was the sound of a surprisingly commanding voice that stopped the mole in his tracks . 

“Ah, dear mole. I have been expecting you.”

“AGH!” screamed the mole, who had not been expecting to be expected by a talking worm. 

“Fear not, my furry friend. I mean you no harm,” said the worm. 

“Agh!” said the mole, who had very much been meaning harm to the worm and who could only hope that said worm held no suspicions of such grisly intent. The mole shuffled uncomfortably on his tiny paws which, not moments ago, had been grasping around for his prey, claws extended and blood on the mind. “Well, yes. Good. I should hope so,” said the mole. 

The worm huffed a knowing laugh and regarded the mole with all-seeing eyes. 

“Tell me, mole. What is it that your heart desires most in this world? Tell me, and I shall grant it. For I,” said the worm with a humble flourish, “am a magical worm.”

The mole, who had been attempting to sneak up on the worm whilst it spoke, was once again brought to a halt by its words. 

“A- A magical worm? What? Like the ones from the great mole tales of old?” 

“Exactly like those ones, yes,” confirmed the magical worm, who himself had never made it into one such tale but who was very much gunning for it. “And, being the legendary, magical worm that I am, I would like to grant you one wish. Anything that your heart desires most.” The worm watched the mole as understanding graced his pointy face. 

“Anything I want… well. Wow. Who would have thought? Little old me stumbling upon a magical worm,” said the mole in awe. “Well, now. Let me think.”

And so the two creatures sat in comfortable quietude as the mole thought upon what he would wish for. Finally, the mole spoke.

“I’ve got it. I know what my heart desires most.” 

“Speak it, and it shall be yours, my mole-y friend,” spoke the worm.

“I want to be able to see! To see with my eyes!” the mole clarified. “I don’t want to have to depend on only my nose everytime I’m looking for food or trying to avoid foxes. I want to see what’s coming before it can see me. Oh magical worm,” said the mole with reverence, “give me sight!”

For a moment, there was silence. The worm said nothing and the mole could do nothing but wait with bated breath. 

“As you wish,” the worm responded at last. “But be warned, my friend. You may not like all that you see.” 

The mole took little stock of the worm’s final warning. He was already imagining the feast that would be held in his own name when he returned to the clan with more worms on which to feast than any mole could even dream of. The mole shuffled in excited anticipation as the worm worked its magic. 

Silence descended once more. The mole was starting to wonder if the worm had just been having him on and was currently trying to make a break for it. When a little trickle of something slid into his consciousness. 

“What-,” shouted the mole in shock, “What under the earth is this?!”

A warm yellow light began to illuminate the strange room and the mole came to the exhilarating realisation that this must be sight! The mole stood very still, waiting for his eyes to adjust to their new capacity. Finally, after no more yellow grew into the world, the mole began to move. His eyes roamed about the space. He could see the colour of the walls. They were brown. He looked down. The floor! It was brown as well, only it was slightly darker! The mole looked up and was elated to see that the ceiling above him was yet a different shade of brown. 

“Oh what fun!” exclaimed the mole. He turned to share in his newfound joy with the magical worm who had granted it when the most abominable sight caught his eyes. There, in the centre of the brown space, was the most horrible creature. It was long and pink and glistened with malice. And there, near what the mole assumed was the creature’s head, were the most frightening white orbs. The orbs bulged from the creature’s body, as if they had been stuck on with glue. And in their centre were little black dots that seemed to stare into the mole’s very soul.

“AGH!” screamed the mole and, stumbling about in the brown, he dug as fast as his little hands would take him away from the frightful beast and back home where he would tell the tale of the magical disappearing worm and the horrible pink monster that would haunt his dreams for years to come and that only a night time snack could chase away.  

[as-rynse]

Maggots

Blind and white

Pallor like flaking skin

Consigned beneath the earth

Their wriggling bodies stuffed full of sin

Until into the light they emerge

One by one 

Their soft translucent flesh 

Pulsing with each tiny breath

Stretch in search of something

Wretched, writhing, hungry

Lungless legless little things 

Yellow-white like slimy grins

Legions waiting for their wings

Presence wholly sickening 

Hatched from eggs and fed by death

Beckoned by a rotting stench

To spread disease 

Incite unease 

These little seeds of sickness

They feel around the cursed ground 

With supple, sensitive skin 

Tiny pin-pricks their heads 

Emerge and submerge back into the depths 

Like looping threads 

Of fetid flesh 

They bump into their brethren 

Recognition barely present 

And continue on their wicked way 

Disgusting and unpleasant 

Some perish in fruitless pursuit 

A miracle, like a shooting star 

Some find loot to feast upon 

Their bellies burgeon in the dark 

Until stark white gives way 

To brown carapice 

The colour of polluted piss 

And this is just the entree to 

The monster that ensues 

Until another host is born 

Carrier of fresh new sporn 

That careens through air on wary wings 

And births the most horrendous things