Day 386

You didn't know who the sender was, the return address area was blank.
It was weighty, damp, smelled like a butcher's shop in summer and buzzing faintly.

Placing the parcel to one side you open the slightly moist letter stapled to the side.

The words felt familiar, like something your uncle would say after two drinks too many.

It read:

At best the human body is a disease-ridden sack of pus and bones waiting to die.
It can be felt in every breath, as your lungs draw in corrosive chemicals and breathe out life.
As your eyes ache, your feet drag and your pulse flickers like a failing lightbulb.

At worst the human body is a prison with thousands of prisoners and surrounded by kin.
Our eyes are like ants, tiny in comparison to the grand conglomerated mesh that we are.
So many stare into these eyes claiming to see emotions behind the glassy gaze we spew forth.

That was it, no signature or date or any way of telling who sent you this.
Bracing yourself you opened the fairly hefty package and almost immediately you were hit
by a wave of incredibly fat flies, their bloated forms finding purchase all around you.
As you panicked and began swatting their sluggish bodies you dropped the parcel.
What was left of an infant's body rolled out and sat bloody on your floor.