Alien love

Lately, it feels as if my stomach is about to burst.

The doctor says it will, when the worms are all fully grown and need a bigger host. He says there is no cure; they’re so entangled in my flesh that killing them would kill me too.

I don’t know where I got them. I mean, sure, that alien brothel wasn’t licensed, but it wasn’t cheap either. You usually get what you pay for these places. Sex with lesbian martian siamese twins wasn’t all it was cranked up to be, so I figured they’d at least be clean.

All I can do now is wait. Wait for the worms to dig their way out of my belly, and hope that the doctors can sew me back up again afterwards. I have a thirty percent chance of survival, according to various sources.

I just hope the worms decide to leave my head alone. Once they get in my brains, I’m dead for sure. Then they’ll have to shoot me on sight.