20180717

Day 1,408

It's in the way they smile, how it never meets their eyes, that's how you know they're infected.

It started with a crop of tainted lettuce, not that anyone knew until the farmer in question said he'd been dealing with a pesticide-resistant worm for years and had been brewing his own treatment without telling anybody.

Whatever he'd been spraying out there hadn't killed the worms, if anything it weeded out the weaker ones and left the strongest to breed until we were left with our current strain and even then they're always trying out new ways of spreading.

Weird as it may seem to talk about worms like they're sentient beings, these ones are or at least they're doing a damned good job at tossing together coherent speech through their host. They always go for the base of the brain, working their way up from the intestine through the D12 vertebra where it would slink its way up to total control.

They don't have perfect control, not with this generation of worm at least. It's the facial muscles that draw attention to it - the jerky marionette-manipulation between changing expressions or the way that words came out in a tangled mess while the face looked surprised that it had managed to speak at all.

They don't always speak but when they do they try to placate us, to reduce our fears and encourage us to accept them as a new way of thinking. Sadly this has actually worked to some extent and humanity dwindles in the face of a new human-worm hybrid that calls itself the next new thing.

No comments:

Post a Comment