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Surprisingly, the act of being liquified by a parasite’s melting skin was not as painful as it sounded.
A tingling sensation followed by total numbness envelops every point of contact, much like how a leg becomes after sitting in a comfortable but otherwise unideal position.
More so, the issue was with the burning sensation of suffocation as his head was quickly consumed by the pale viscous liquid. The more he struggled, the more the sludge seemed to harden under his touch. But when he stilled, it melded effortlessly into every crevice of his skin.
He’s held under her skin for much longer than he had observed the Midgardian’s in their infection. She wasn’t as stupid as he thought (a thought that would have brought him great anticipation a few minutes prior).
But alas, it was neither here nor there, as the Midgardians like to say.
Under the oppressive darkness of being devoured alive by an inter-dimensional parasite, Loki sees the beginnings of stars dance across his vision.
The goo skates over his eyeball and under his eyelid into the back of his head each time he blinks, but with the irritation comes the urge to blink even more.
The stars have turned into a kaleidoscope, words and letters shuttering in and out of his vison. And he’s pretty sure he can hear screaming.
Screaming.
Well yes there are words here that tell him it screams.
What is screaming?
You are.
Are you?
Of course he’s screaming. The burning in his chest mounts like horse kick.
She’s not trying to turn him. She’s trying to kill him.
He doesn’t want to come back again so soon. There was so much blood the last time.
I am the crime that will not be forgiven!
Wait, how do you know that?
He says, confused.
You know?
Help me.
…You know.
Agjjahhhdknmmmmmmm.
I didn’t mean to.
…
I’m not him!
…
Why aren’t you answering me?
[Screaming].
Oh. She ate The Narrative.
Its ink is running down my
his
face.
At least you didn’t leave me.
…
Yes you. I’m talking to you.
Not sure what I’m going to do about the narrative though.
Hmmmmm.
…
Hmm…
…
And then America came in with a right hook that tears off a sizable chunk of Mother’s face, and the parasite hits the ground hard.
She turns to where he’s heaving for breath on his hands and knees, nothing short of annoyance and fear written across her face.
“We’re leaving, chico!” she lilts with urgency.
Ah. Guess our time is up.
No don’t leave me with it please!
There’s a star on the page.
NO!
“Chico, we have to go now!”
It’s breaking-
PLEASE!
-and shrinking.
PLEASE!
And it’s gone.
…
Fin.