Morning

Sitting upon the cold, chipped toilet seat, Bertram held his head between thumb and forefinger tracing slow firm circles into his temples. His free hand was held up in a defensive posture, vainly attempting to block the golden rays of sunlight that came relentlessly streaming through a small window set high in the bathroom wall. A bare three hours of sleep coupled with an atrocious hangover made the morning sun anything but a welcome sight. As he had done on countless mornings past, he made a mental note to purchase some blinds for that god-awful window. Of course, long before the old pendulum clock in the next room tolled another passing hour, the note would have faded away just as so many of its predecessors.

A blinding pain suddenly seared across Bertram's left temple paying little heed to the pressure exerted by the circling thumb. The headache had now given way to a full-blown migraine. Since childhood, he had regularly suffered from migraines and had found the only cure to begin with a handful of Excedrin. An hour of wishing to die later, he would be seized with a violent fit of vomiting which would come to an abrupt end as the migraine finally broke. Desperately, his mind grasped at the slight possibility that he still had a few pills left even though he was pretty sure that he had made a mental note only a few days ago to pick up a new bottle at the store.

Finishing his business, Bertram rose from the toilet seat half-expecting to find that he had passed blood with his stool as his stomach and intestines felt quite raw. It would not be the first time if he did, for ulcers were another of those wonderful presents that life had bestowed upon him. This time however, there was not a single drop of blood to be found, just a foot long bloated worm swimming in a lazy circle around the bowl.

Paralyzed with the horror of what he had extruded, Bertram stared silently into the water. As he watched, the pale, blue-white parasite began to thrash about, releasing a thick cloud of minute versions of itself. The multitude of offspring then flitted about the toilet seemingly exploring their new surroundings, before finally descending into the dark cave of the drainpipe leaving their parent to return to its slow circling. For a minute or so it resumed its slow serpentine gait, circling about the bowl seemingly oblivious of the sweat-soaked man within whose shadow it moved.

When the worm finally paused, floating gingerly against the back edge of the bowl it raised what Bertram assumed to be its tail end. Like an accusatory finger it extended from the water, pointing directly at him.

Uncontrollably, he found himself turning away from the worm and descending back down onto the toilet seat. Like a prisoner within his own body, he could do nothing as the nightmare progressed. Sitting there helplessly, his mind ablaze with the terrible horror of the situation in which he found himself, he was suddenly struck with a sharp burning pain followed by a heavy feeling of constipation. Without a doubt, he knew that the parasite had returned to its host.

A sickening moment later, he again regained control of his body and immediately attempted to expel the intruder as before. When his efforts at pushing it out failed, he unhesitatingly donned the pearl handled straight razor from the bathroom sink and commenced surgery.