Outtards

(post-titled by Amber)

Coming slowly to consciousness, I felt a familiar weight on my waist. It took a moment to register that where normally I would hear purring, I heard instead a gurgling. Freshly harvested intestines still purged and secreted, unaware yet of having become detached from their original host. Incidentally, I was feeling hungrier than usual. So I rounded up my innards, which I would need, and made for the kitchen for a snack.

I opened the fridge door to find a alastic-wrapped liver sittin gon the top shelf. I was fond of liver, but afraid this one might be mine. So I went for egg salad. As I swallowed, I felt my intestines start to pulse with peristaltic zeal. When I stopped, they would stop. The next time I caught a look at them in the light from opening the refrigerator door to put the leftover egg salad away, I had to exclaim: "Wait, those aren't mine!" And it was rue. I now laid them out flat an dmeasured over sixteen feet of continuous gut. "Someone is really mising you right now, "I said to them as I recoiled the slippery tubing into one giant ball of glistening 'Gut' and began calling local hospitals to see if they had lost anyone's innards during the night. After being transferred to 'Lost and Found', the innards were readily identified by DNA match as the property of a reclusive millionaire who lived near my house, always in his garden and looking lonely.

Three days later, however, I found them curled up on my doorstep when I returned home from work. Stepping gingerly over them, I entered the house - and they followed me in.

It served me right. I had fed them after all. While the millionaire, I later found out, was always on some new fad diet that involved drinking horrible concoctions through a straw and cleaning them out with pressurized water.

And so I took the wayward innards into my home, and shared my life with them. We grew fond of each other, and I named them Wiggles.