An Unexpected Reunion
By Madeleine Swann
The immense pain in my abdomen sent me to the doctor, who sent me for a scan. I lay back in the chair, dying for a wee, while the technician pressed hard on my bladder with the camera. “Hmm,” she said with a frown, “there appears to be a small young man nibbling on your ovary.”
“Really?” I said, “Let me see!” She was right, there he was. I could just make him out through the shadows on the screen but I’d have known him anywhere – my ex-boyfriend. The last time I’d seen him he was explaining why he’d spent the rent money on weed and now here he was – or a tiny version of him anyway – merrily chewing at my left egg cup.
“We’ll have the results sent to the doctor,” smiled the technician, and I made the mad dash for the loo.
Doctor Mandipp sat opposite me in the doctor’s office. He was slumped enough in his chair for me to wonder if he was skimming his patient’s meds, though he seemed genuinely concerned. He ran through the procedure of waiting and letters and surgery dates and I was feeling hopeful, when suddenly I doubled over. Even through the warm blanket of painkillers I felt stinging on the other side to match the original. Doctor Mandipp assured me everything would be fine, but now he looked really worried.
The hospital date came surprisingly quickly, which was a relief as my insides were like a hamster’s gnawing block. I waited in the room, did some more waiting, and then was wheeled like Aladdin on a budget carpet to the operating theatre. I held my breath as the needle went in and the sick sensation of falling began. He’ll soon be out, I thought, everything is going to be…
I awoke like an amnesiac in the recovery room, slowly piecing together why I was there. Once I’d gathered enough brain cells I was wheeled onto the ward, where the surgeon came to speak to me. She held up a jar. “We managed to remove all the ones we could see, hopefully we got them all.”
“Huh?” She pointed to the jar. It was like a party where everyone I didn’t want to see had turned up, all with diminutive blood stained mouths. There were friends I’d stopped talking to, exes, girls whose boyfriends I’d stolen or who’d stolen mine. They were searching for more meat, not finding it and circling each other with their fists up emitting high pitched growls. “Well, son of a bitch.”
“I’ll take it away, shall I?” said the surgeon. I was so grateful I wanted to cry.
A half hour passed, an hour, another hour and I drifted into sleep. It was over – I could go home soon. I wondered if I could flush the mini people down the toilet. An instant later I yelped as a sharp pain travelled down my arm. The nurse didn’t exactly hurry over but when I sat up clutching my chest a bunch came at once. “Oh God, it hurts.”
A little head popped through the skin of my hand, its jaw chewing frantically. I flailed about to detach it but it held on with sharp teeth and dived back inside. It was my Gran; I hadn’t sent her a card or rung her in years and now she was snacking on my tendons. Another emerged from my ankle and a third from my chest. I was in too much pain to recognise them.
The medical staff pushed me back towards theatre. Past the heart ward we went as more and more surfaced. By now the bed was covered in blood. Past the ultra sound ward next and I screamed as one wriggled through my right eye. The pain seared throughout my body which now looked like a bloody mess. The last thing I saw was the door of the operating room, and the last thing I felt was my own consumption by a thousand tiny mouths.
- - -
I have a novella upcoming with Burning Bulb publishing. I also have short stories in the American Nightmare anthology, Polluto magazine, Bizarro Central, The Strange Edge and LegumeMan Books. I have erotica on forbiddenfiction.com, The Darker Edge of Desire and The Big Book of Bizarro.
By Madeleine Swann
The immense pain in my abdomen sent me to the doctor, who sent me for a scan. I lay back in the chair, dying for a wee, while the technician pressed hard on my bladder with the camera. “Hmm,” she said with a frown, “there appears to be a small young man nibbling on your ovary.”
“Really?” I said, “Let me see!” She was right, there he was. I could just make him out through the shadows on the screen but I’d have known him anywhere – my ex-boyfriend. The last time I’d seen him he was explaining why he’d spent the rent money on weed and now here he was – or a tiny version of him anyway – merrily chewing at my left egg cup.
“We’ll have the results sent to the doctor,” smiled the technician, and I made the mad dash for the loo.
Doctor Mandipp sat opposite me in the doctor’s office. He was slumped enough in his chair for me to wonder if he was skimming his patient’s meds, though he seemed genuinely concerned. He ran through the procedure of waiting and letters and surgery dates and I was feeling hopeful, when suddenly I doubled over. Even through the warm blanket of painkillers I felt stinging on the other side to match the original. Doctor Mandipp assured me everything would be fine, but now he looked really worried.
The hospital date came surprisingly quickly, which was a relief as my insides were like a hamster’s gnawing block. I waited in the room, did some more waiting, and then was wheeled like Aladdin on a budget carpet to the operating theatre. I held my breath as the needle went in and the sick sensation of falling began. He’ll soon be out, I thought, everything is going to be…
I awoke like an amnesiac in the recovery room, slowly piecing together why I was there. Once I’d gathered enough brain cells I was wheeled onto the ward, where the surgeon came to speak to me. She held up a jar. “We managed to remove all the ones we could see, hopefully we got them all.”
“Huh?” She pointed to the jar. It was like a party where everyone I didn’t want to see had turned up, all with diminutive blood stained mouths. There were friends I’d stopped talking to, exes, girls whose boyfriends I’d stolen or who’d stolen mine. They were searching for more meat, not finding it and circling each other with their fists up emitting high pitched growls. “Well, son of a bitch.”
“I’ll take it away, shall I?” said the surgeon. I was so grateful I wanted to cry.
A half hour passed, an hour, another hour and I drifted into sleep. It was over – I could go home soon. I wondered if I could flush the mini people down the toilet. An instant later I yelped as a sharp pain travelled down my arm. The nurse didn’t exactly hurry over but when I sat up clutching my chest a bunch came at once. “Oh God, it hurts.”
A little head popped through the skin of my hand, its jaw chewing frantically. I flailed about to detach it but it held on with sharp teeth and dived back inside. It was my Gran; I hadn’t sent her a card or rung her in years and now she was snacking on my tendons. Another emerged from my ankle and a third from my chest. I was in too much pain to recognise them.
The medical staff pushed me back towards theatre. Past the heart ward we went as more and more surfaced. By now the bed was covered in blood. Past the ultra sound ward next and I screamed as one wriggled through my right eye. The pain seared throughout my body which now looked like a bloody mess. The last thing I saw was the door of the operating room, and the last thing I felt was my own consumption by a thousand tiny mouths.
- - -
I have a novella upcoming with Burning Bulb publishing. I also have short stories in the American Nightmare anthology, Polluto magazine, Bizarro Central, The Strange Edge and LegumeMan Books. I have erotica on forbiddenfiction.com, The Darker Edge of Desire and The Big Book of Bizarro.
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