Infestation

WARNING: The following content is graphic and may disturb some readers.

Montauk is left brutalized and raw, incubating all the hatred and vitriol involuntarily injected into him. He is indelibly contaminated by the festering wounds of the past, insides repurposed and corrupted, now destined to germinate a plague of that same misplaced affection and maladaptive possessiveness. Everything has always been like this. In fact, this may be predetermined fulfilment of his function.

TheHaving been marked from birth as nothing but a receptacle utility (made, not born), Montauk remains uncertain whether he should accept the parasite ravaging him or try dislodge it before the cancer metastasizes. Despite the indecision, why not smile? You're on camera, after all. He could twist and construe his excruciated writhing into some kind of playful dance; they always insisted such exchanges were healthy, healing means of correcting karma. Montauk never was one to disappoint his audience, though perhaps more discerning viewers can feel the disintegrating anguish eroding the enamel between his barred, grinding teeth.

Relinquishing his will and permitting the infection to consume him until he is a spent husk might be a merciful concession, at least, then, he can join his friends back there. Even still, I continue to feel their incessant gnawing through to the epidermis.

Feeding.

Growing.

Making adjustments.

This meditation inspired a digital painting of mine, click here to view on Newgrounds.