They Leave the Neck for Last by Akis Linardos
His head is heavy, lolling left. His hook-up warned him this drug packed a punch: “This is made of a fungus that sprouts only every tenth spring. It spreads its mycorrhiza for years to siphon the most intoxicating substances from the entire forest it inhabits. Refining, biding its time, until it becomes the most addictive delicacy for animals to devour and spread it further. And then it waits again. Tasting it will feel like starlight devours you from within.” It doesn’t—it’s squirming bees, stinging under the skin.
His head gets heavier, lolling right. Beside the bed, there’s the discarded coat his date wore. Chuckling he imagines the dude was not human at all but a human-disguised swarm, preying on his vore fetish. Mushrooms are mind-readers; they figured he wanted to be devoured. There’s a bloody pool on the bedsheets, and skin-colored motionless bugs. Are they worms? No, they are jointed; they have fingernails. Ah, how silly. They’re his own fingers, full of ant-like parasites nibbling around the nails. When did they drop? He looks down at his hands to see finger-bones jutting from his carpals like bamboo shoots, free of muscle.
Free, his head is not heavy anymore. Lighter than ever, it rolls across the floor.
Akis is a shapeshifter. He hops around countries as his career and exploration urges demand, but one day he will settle in his greek cave and conjure dark stories forever. Find his words in Apex, Cosmic Horror Monthly, Uncharted, Strange Horizons, ergot. and more at akislinardos.com
