MonstrousMay 18. Chrysalis

It's not normal for us to feel sorry for our hosts. But here I am, mourning poor Tony Block. I've learned that the word "host" applies to someone who invites others into their homes, feeds them, and entertains them. I am the worst kind of guest to have.

Right now, he's called out for the sixth day in a row. He'll never go back to work. But maybe that's a mercy. I just wish he knew it.

It's completely by chance, how we wind up inside something. I didn't set out to destroy Tony. This planet is full of analogous relationships. Tapeworms and ticks. There's no malice. Just animals trying to survive. We need the humans like they need homes and meals.

If a human lived inside a house made of meat, wouldn't they gnaw at the walls? Maybe I've lost the metaphor. I'm fairly new to them.

Tony Block is 35 years old. He enjoys sweet things, listening to music, and reading books (which is why I have all these words to use). He works, worked, at a facility that takes in dead animals and turns them into packages wrapped in shiny plastic. Probably why I have meat on the mind.

That's how we became acquainted. In my last instar, a cat was my host. I had enjoyed its predatory nature. It killed for fun instead of just sustenance. A unique experience for me, who started as a spore and passed from a bird, then to a rat, and then the cat. Each had taught me something, but the cat was the most fun.

I had nearly outgrown it when the animal control unit appeared. It didn't put up much of a fight, as I had taken almost everything it had to give. The shelter it was brought to was determined to nurse it back to health. And I wasn't exactly good for its health. They didn't see me, as we can trick most human technology into thinking we're something benign. But they had administered poison meant to kill things like me. I didn't have long. These humans were better protected than most, with gloves and masks. Getting into one of them would be impossible.

But that's when Tony walked in. He had brought meat that was going to be thrown away to the shelter. He wasn't supposed to do this. He could have gotten in a lot of trouble for it. But I suppose I'm worse than whatever he may have faced. 

He squatted down and tenderly touched the cat. It began to purr. I pity you if you never get to feel the encompassing rumble of a cat's pleased purring. The other humans warned him that the cat was sick. I slid out of the cat and up his sleeve when he turned away. "That's okay," he said softly to the cat. "It'll get better."

It was agony, being outside of a body. I traveled with him back to his home, suffocating all the while. I managed to get to his armpit, which was warm enough to keep me from freezing in the outside air. He made himself dinner and listened to music. It sounded like horrible, chaotic gibberish then, before I knew what music was. I thought I might shrivel up and die.

Eventually, he fell asleep on the couch, his belly full and his body tired. I was finally able to climb up out of the cloth of his shirt and down into his mouth. He coughed and hiccuped himself awake, but I had already made it deep enough. Nothing short of surgical intervention could dislodge me.

And then I spent a few months with Tony as I grew. I really got to know him. He laughs out loud even when no one else is around. He does nice things for people, often without anything in return. He gets mad but very rarely shows it. Even while I was more or less eating him from the inside, he never complained.

I'm committing these things to memory because of what's coming. I have stopped growing, so the final change will come soon. He's stopped getting out of bed. For a brief, truly brief, moment, I thought of leaving him. But he stopped going anywhere, afraid he might pass on whatever was making him feel so lethargic, so sick down to his bones. Unfortunately for Tony, without another host, I'd die. And our imperative is to live.

It's aggravating, this pesky awareness. A side effect of a human host, I think. However, once I am able to return to the others, I hope to pass on even the tiniest speck of Tony Block to my kind. My children's children's children may remember the song he played on days when he felt sad and didn't know why.

There are these animals on earth called butterflies. Humans typically love them. They are similar to us in that they undergo a series of changes. The last of these takes place inside what's called a chrysalis. They emerge as a completely different creature. Their chrysalis is split open and left behind, mostly empty. 

I've come to think of Tony as my chrysalis. And I will always be grateful.