Roger

There’s a monster in my chest. I’m not talking about some sort of dark urges I need to fight, I mean an actual monster. They took x-rays and ran tests. It’s attached to my heart. It lives in the upper left ventricle, a parasite feeding off my blood and oxygen. It has a face and hands. Its tiny mouth slowly siphons my blood to feed its own existence. Its tiny hands, all four, work my heart to pump the blood faster through my body. The monster sucks the life from me, makes me tired, consumes my joy. The pain from its tiny hands is unbearable. Always pushing on my heart, making it go faster, making it work harder.

I know how it got there. Like a sexually transmitted parasite, you put it there that night we kissed outside the restaurant. The tiny monster cells traveled up from your heart, past your lips and in to me. Such a loving gesture with such sweet intent, and now this monster is sucking my happiness out.

I could have surgery to remove it, they said they could do it. I know if they remove it the damage to my heart would be considerable. It would never beat the same way again but I’d be free from the pain. Free from the tiny hands. Free from the hungry mouth. So I have two options: kill the monster or swallow the pain.

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