By Sarah Crysl Akhtar
‘An indolent tumor,’ they’d called it.
A blowsy little woman curled inside my breast, perfume gone rancid, and wiping her sticky fingers on the walls of a milk duct.
Don’t you ever wash? I wanted to shout at her. Clean up after yourself?
I felt like throwing up.
She wasn’t the sort I’d ever be friends with. How’d she manage to move in? And now trying to evict her might be worse than letting her stay.
Now she’s begun pilfering from me. So clever, these types; you can’t prove anything until it’s too late and you’ve lost what you most treasure.
A fresh perspective on a condition faced all too often…disease as a parasitic roommate. Depressing, but very well done.
Great story Sarah…and I hear ‘ya. I had one of those lazy damn squatters in my throat. Eviction isn’t easy, they do like to dig in. I had some medical friends help throw ’em out. So far, I’ve been lucky — I haven’t seen hide nor hair of ’em since.
What original imagery and tone for something that’s talked about so much!
I personally am glad to see you becoming active (hope that’s not pushing it) in micro fiction. Your approach to subjects is unique and more than frequently leaves me aasking, “How did she come up with that approach?” Bravo.
I wholeheartedly agree with all comments. This story puts a different slant on one of the banes of humankind. It’s a real Winner!