—Justin Timberlake
EPILOGUE:
Ouroboros
I need to talk about something else, kid.
Go ahead. Since when have you ever asked permission?
Just this time. I need to tell you some things that are going to rock your world a bit—a classic good news and bad news kind of deal.
Okay.
Back when I had to leave you at your mother-in-law’s house and climbed into the mutt . . .
Yeah?
Well, it’s an intricate process bonding with a host—it’s very intimate. It’s not like I’m a flea hopping from one thing to the other. Correction, with most animals it kind of is, but not with humans. You know how bonded we were, kid.
Yeah, I do.
And as you realized, now it’s different. I really am just a passenger and I can’t stay with you much longer.
So, like you confirmed, I’m going to die.
Yeah. That’s the bad news part of the deal. I can’t hold back your disease anymore. I’m sorry, kid. Your brain is filled with holes. It won’t be long now.
You said there was a good news bit to this equation, but I’m having a hard time imagining what that might be.
I know, it’s coming. I’ve been right where you are at right now. I know exactly how you feel.
Realization was settling on me like an obese hooker, but I still asked him, “How could you possibly know how I feel?”
Remember when you asked how the younger symbiotes are created?
Yeah.
Well, the Elders can’t reproduce. I guess one of them had to have done so initially, but it’s a chicken and the egg kind of deal.
So how are symbiotes made, Bogart? How were you made?
I was once human. It was so long ago that I can barely remember it, but it’s true. A dream within a dream. My name was Ken Arok and I was a pretty big deal in the 1200’s, but my stepson tried to kill me. I was bleeding out when Tavi crawled into my ear and . . . you know the rest of the story.
I don’t understand, Bogart.
I know you don’t, kid. But you will. You see, when I left you, I left a piece of me behind. It’s how I was made. It’s how you are being made.
Bogart . . .
Your body is dying, but your new body is almost ready to be born. It’s kind of beautiful if you really think about it. The moment you die you are reborn.
Born?
It’s just a new body, kid. You maintain your consciousness, your memories, everything.
But I’m a . . . I’m going to be a symbiote?
It’s just a body. You’ll get used to it. Crawl into an animal first. I started with a cat, but dogs are okay too. Hell, if you want to be cool then try on a bear for size. Of course, the end game is a human. You just have to find someone that fits the bill.
It was a lot to process, but I didn’t have much time. That night I went out behind the 7-11 and spent some time with my former bully-turned-derelict, Walter. I took a bottle of Kentucky Hunter with me and patiently waited for him to drink it all and pass out. That was when I said goodbye to Bogart for the last time.
Three days later the holes in my brain grew too large and I died.
I’d been spending my last few hours with a Boston-terrier/pug mix that I’d found wandering down South Street. The poor thing had been starved half to death and was covered in fleas, but I gave him a bath and as much canned Alpo as he could eat. He was so grateful that he never left my side. I named him Bogart.
A few minutes later I was reborn. When I crawled into Bogart’s ear he didn’t even whimper.
It was surprisingly easy to acclimate to my new host; if you want to learn how to truly live in the moment then just share consciousness with a dog. Our first family was kind to us, but way too physically healthy. My morality wouldn’t allow me to climb into a child—they had five.
The mother was walking us at Pecan Park when I saw you. I could smell your sickness like a fine perfume—Obsession. It was a brain tumor you didn’t even realize you had. I think you would have died in your sleep without even knowing it was coming.
When you leaned down to pet the cute dog, he licked your face and I scurried right into your ear and then . . .
I understand this must be a lot to process, but lately I’ve been smelling something familiar. I think an Elder might be coming for us. It might even already be inside someone you know. I’m afraid that paybacks might be coming. We are in a lot of danger.
Pineapple.
When you need a break all you have to say is . . .
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to thank my father, my sister, and my wife for proof reading the novel. I would also like to thank Marc Ciccarone for his consistent support.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Aaron T. Milstead is the author of They Don’t Check Out and was featured in Road Kill Volume III. He lives in the Piney Woods of East Texas with his wife and three children.
Earworm Page 19
