genomenon. a million times a second went the crack into the bend, until seeing peeling make up tickled up a throat and back. imagine the smell before that moment when the worm vomits on the carpet, because she couldn't leave in time, since an instant will decay forever to your insatiable satisfaction, and the worm pretends to hunger, but it's nauseating to. the worm lived underground and surrounded herself with dirt. then an order came down from the voice outside and told her she'd rot if she stayed in the dirt. when she left she took a small jar with her filled with dirt. whenever she felt sad, she'd open the jar quietly to not wake her roommates, get in her porcelain bathtub, and softly cover herself in the remnants of her true home, careful not to spill any on the bathroom tile. she never felt the urge she might've had if she'd wanted to talk about it. she lives in the sea now, she's a sea worm. she doesn't mind the lack of oxygen, no carpets in the ocean.