Read by Tim Larkfield
It is the warm spot, where I am nestled. The cranny between the palate and cribiform plate. I occupy the pleasant moist section close to your brain. The warm air filtering through is delectable, maybe you’ve felt me wriggle from time to time. The sensation is utterly delightful, I must say. I love what you’ve done with the place and I really couldn’t ask for more. I do live a very peaceful life, you’ll be glad to hear.
Your nasal cavity is my lodging. I sure am sorry to trouble you with all of this. I do hope that I didn’t remove too many hairs, though they did tickle me so. Still, they’ve often provided a firm anchor for my pedipalps to latch onto. Usually it was when you blew your nose. Such a distasteful practice. Honestly, it causes me great inconvenience. I’ve noticed that as I’ve grown bigger you’ve been doing that more often. Is it my antenna that makes you itch?
Sometimes you have just had that urge to scratch. I respect you for keeping it at bay, usually in a public place. Social decorum and all that. Though be sure, when those times came that I had the urge to bite, I too managed to restrain myself. I am especially proud of my powerful jaws. You’ll find out just how superior they are soon enough.
Most of the day I am idle. Though I am sure I have slipped and created a few issues for you. The times my scaly legs have scraped into the soft sides of the lining of your nasal passage. I have to be careful, the layers of your viscera are so thin and I can be a clumsy little fellow at times. On those infrequent occasions I might’ve spilt a few drops of blood here and there. My dear little hooks probably made your eyes water. What can I say, nobody’s perfect. You always covered with a handkerchief, obstructing those large holes I am fond of gazing from. But the dark blood clotted into a healthy meal and both of us have proceeded in our satisfaction.
Only, there’s been a problem recently. You see, I started so small. Back in my youth I was such a tiny thing. How I even arrived at my current abode is anybody’s guess. Was it when you smoked that odd cigarette? Did you eat some poorly prepared piece of meat? Really it is of no consequence; I’m here now and as happy as can be. Your happiness has never been either of our first priorities, has it now? We’ve known some good times together. Most of them will have slipped under your radar of course, but that’s the nature of our relationship.
But I’m a healthy thing, growing as fast as I might. Those slimed and hairy segments of my body are now approaching swollen. You must be aware of the blockage of your nose, though I know that you put it down to a cold, or polyps perhaps. The reality is only dear little me. As a developing parasite, I have a right to basic accommodation. This place in which I reside has become too restrictive of late. My quarters need to be larger if I want to stretch out properly. I’m sure that you understand, you can feel that bulging pressure on the bridge of your nose where the point of my tail curls up.
So I think we might need to renegotiate the territory somewhat. My proposal is based on the following; I have an increased need for the space. The methods of seizing this room to live in are in my hands. All I need do is burrow upwards. Oh, you’ll protest initially but in time you’ll grow accustomed to the arrangement. You can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs, right? Though to be sure I’ve thought about laying a few of mine in your sinuses, the further restriction of my cramped conditions would be more trouble than it’s worth. Think of it as payment for every time I’ve had to dodge an errant fingertip when you attempted to extract me. Or else it is a protest against the poor quality of the food. Mucus never did get anyone’s salivary juices running.
You might not even notice a thing. I can do the bulk of the work whenever’s best for you. When you’re lying in your bed fast asleep, I could pull a graveyard shift and start the dig into your soft brain pudding. That hard rattle will be me chipping through your skull, right between the eyes. As you can see, I have it all planned out. I have been a busy little bee, haha. It’s only prudent that I let you know of my intentions. This more of a courtesy call really; I’ve already broken the first ground.
(c) George Huntington, 2016
George Huntington wrote this story based on something an Ear, Nose & Throat doctor told him. He’s never been able to forget it and now, neither will you.
Tim Larkfield worked at the BBC for 10 years as a broadcast journalist. He trained at The Poor School in King's Cross. Recent credits include WeAreHere for the National Theatre, the Dauphin in Saint Joan, and Edgar in Edward Albee's The Lady from Dubuque.
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