The Chronicles

After a few days, it is silent. When it is too quiet, my ears seem to feel odd. But I think that after an hour the silence will pass and noise will define my surroundings. I am desperately tired. And desperately miserable. A few minutes ago I screamed and kicked a chair. The room stinks because I ate from McDonald's last night. The room is a hopeless mess and the dirty laundry is piling up. There are five glasses of orange juice, each of them left untouched; three opened cans of beer; and potatoes spilt across the floor. The entire room is a wreck, but I am aware that trying do something about it would only aggravate things. All alone in the silent room, I stare at a potato that fell on the ground, and I understand that the it isn't actually a potato, but something made in the shape of a potato. Just as I said that I somehow pity the maggot, which looks like a potato even though it shouldn't, the listless maggot divided up into a million maggots. Lying on the bed, I look at the transformation from potato to maggot, at the maggots that slowly but surely start to creep on the bed, how their bodies swell surprisingly quickly, and bit by bit they gnaw away at this body. Out of my eyes, my mouth, my nose, my genitals; life disappears from my maggot-coated body which is like a corpse. Before my eyes I can see a large maggot. As if ridiculing me, the maggot looks at me as it slithers by. Dancing maggots, slimy maggots, meandering maggots, bursting maggots, cute maggots, maggots that are suffering from the cold. Slowly I get attached to them. I develop a kind of affection for them.  I understand that the maggots which are slowly spreading through my body are being absorbed inside me. I will be in unison with the maggots. Slowly my feelings for the maggots shift from affection to dependence; the thought that I would not be able to live without the maggots even crosses my mind. Perhaps the maggots started off by crawling out of this body and imitating the potato. Perhaps this body and the maggots were always already one. But if the maggots have left this body, then it is something that is rotting. There are still a few potatoes on the ground. When I look at them for a while, I wonder if they are also maggots. And while I'm watching them, the fork that I used to eat my salad catches my eye. The plastic fork is dirty; there is something red-white on it. The maggots are entirely absorbed in my body; they lose their shape and merge seamlessly with my flesh. I think this has completed me. The maggots convene in my damaged self, reuniting me with my original self. When I leap up, I reach out my hand and pick up the fork from the floor. At that moment something fell out of my eye; I stuck the fork into the round maggot and once again I screamed.

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