[This piece is not to be read by the weak-hearted]

One fine morning, living inside his worsening illness, he had been unmindful, the viruses of nostalgia, finding his body perfectly weak, captured him. And he went thinking how she used to bring the aroma of magic to heal his diseases. And he wished, like any lover does in his ailment, that she would again transmogrify his pains away and that she would come back to him from so far away like lightening does.

She didn't, but the doctor did. The doctor told, after his check-up, that there was a worm inside him and prescribed a few medicine.

One fine morning, waking on her warm, cosy bed she found that her ailment had vanished. And she found a worm had climbed outside her mouth and was now slowly vanishing outside her window.

Labels: disease, distance, fiction, flash fiction, magic, medicine, short story, surreal, worm