Silverfish

A snippet. It could become something or other. To be determined. 

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I took it upon myself to eradicate the unnecessary traits. To trim the fat, so to speak. I worry I have failed to accomplish this mission. That of which I abhorred so deeply about myself I grow ever more weary, so weary in fact it supersedes all other emotions and desires within me, so even with all this weariness I haven’t slept in several days. And how could I? I cannot escape this pervading feeling. I am doomed. I felt it in the stares of imagined onlookers. Their gazes so affixed on me with such disdain it could be felt even away from closeness would cause me to bite my lip with an intensity dull enough it bled but not in a sudden way. I bit my lip and held my teeth against it, letting the blood be drawn slowly, in an effort entirely unconscious until those conjurings finally dissipated at last and I’m left with only the taste of iron and the pre-birth of a canker sore.

I know no one’s eyes are drawn to me of course but this unsettling feeling is difficult to conquer. How could I sway myself otherwise when the root of the issue is knowingly illogical? Within the contradiction, therein lies the fruit of the matter. The dreadful, rotten fruit of it all. My decaying heart wishes to rush its rot. Let it perish, and me with it, and bury it under mulch so the worms can take what’s left of it, so it can be of worth to something, if not someone.

And in truth, it can be of worth to someone to as well, in the process of this decomposition and then renewal. The nutrition it will provide the worms, which will then nurture the soil, which will then allow crops to flourish, I request there to be planted with the remains of my heart a bush, and permit that bush to be a blueberry bush, and I insist it be well-attended and taken care of even long after my heart has been consumed and lost (but not forgotten, which is why this act is so integral), and anyone who ever chances upon this bush should be granted the privilege to take as many blueberries as they’d like, so long as they solemnly swear to savor each one and not let a single one go to waste but enjoyed and consumed, and this may be optional but would be well-appreciated, some words of thanks too would be welcome, once for the encounter, once for the taking, once for the pre-consumption, and once for the post-consumption. 

Let that be an act of mercy for my sake. I am so deeply rotten, but even so, I could still become something delightful. Wouldn’t you say so? This is clear, isn’t it? So I won’t commit to explain further what I have already professed. The intent is well-understood, I’m gladdened for it. The only thing left is to carry out this mercy. I leave it all to you, who I am soon to leave, and ask you just stay here until I expire at last. Let this be my penultimate selfish request to be met. What comes next is, as I have already expressed, will be the last to be fulfilled. That goes without saying. I entrust you with all my being. I know, there is no worth to be had in that, the favor of my trust, which is no favor at all, and besides, you are the one doing me all the favors. I’m rotten, so very rotten, but at least even I am fortunate enough to be beside an angel at my end. 

Thank you! And farewell! I am to be as my nature dictates after all: to rot.