A girl (her name does not matter but we can call her Jarah if it helps) and her boyfriend (fine, I’ll give him a name too, we can go with,, uhm,,, Prondle) are laying in bed together talking about nonsensical subjects as young couples do. 

Jarah asks Prondle a serious question you may be familiar with. 

Would you still love me if I was a worm?

Of course I would, says Prondle, Worms are lovely creatures. 

Jarah is satisfied with his answer and she sleeps soundly. But her brain becomes fogged over the next few days. She lives in a haze, forgetting things and bumping into pots and pans in the kitchen and suffering from an occasional bout of piercing pain in the head. 

Prondle insists Jarah see the doctor, so she does. Insurance details aren’t relevant for this story, we needn’t worry about co-pay amount or even who the healthcare provider is. 

The doctor does his stuff, poking and prodding with medical instruments, shining lights in and out of her head, snapping fingers and at one point even smelling her ear in a non-sexual way. He deliberates with his nurses and after a moment addresses Jarah with concern. 

There is a worm in your brain, he says. RFK Jr-style, but this one is alive and well. 

How did it get in there? 

Have you eaten any apples lately?

Yes, doctor. 

How did it look? 

Shiny and red, like from a children’s book. 

Did you do many bites to it, nibbling to the core, or did you eat it in one big bite, like a horse? 

Like a horse, she says solemnly. 

They conduct one of those medical things where they put jelly on a pregnant woman’s belly in order to see the black-and-white baby, but they did it to her head. Oh yeah — ultrasound. They do an ultrasound to her, but on her head. 

Prondle and the doctor look with intent at the monitor. 

Can you turn the volume up on this thing, or at least turn on the subtitles? asks Prondle while watching the monitor.

Foolish boy, the doctor sneers to himself. When he realizes that Prondle didn’t hear him, he speaks with more authority. Foolish boy, he says directly to him. 

They look at the monitor and see a little worm up in there. It isn’t moving much but it’s definitely up in there, in her head. Prondle thinks to himself, strange as it may sound, that the worm is curled up with quite a beautiful natural curve. 

So it’s settled. There is a worm in there and it’s affecting your cognitive experience. We can remove it at once. The next available appointment is in ten days. 

Wow, she thinks. A worm imprisoned in my skull, she thinks. (did the worm hear her thought?) I will set you free. Or kill you. Either way, you need to go. (the worm didn’t hear) 

Prondle drives her home in his car, obeying traffic laws carefully. A speeding ticket is the last thing they need on their plate following the jarring diagnosis. 

—

That night, Jarah sleeps deeply. Prondle paces the bedroom, unable to taste even the shallowest of sleep. His palms sweat, his legs itch. He washes his face with tap water. He gets into the bed and whispers into the ear of his sleeping love, I love you. I love you. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. 

A small voice replies, you’re not too bad yourself, Hunk. 

Prondle is shocked. Who said this? 

I said, you’re not too bad yourself, Hunk. A small voice from deep inside the ear, with a slightly wormy accent. 

This – this can’t be! Prondle stutters.

Shhh! Keep it down or you’ll wake her up! 

At this moment, you might think that Prondle wondered if he was dreaming — but he actually doesn’t because that sort of inquisition wouldn’t be in his character. Anyways, he wasn’t dreaming. 

Are you really able to talk? 

I can do more than that, Hot Stuff, the worm replies. 

Like sex stuff? 

Sure, I guess. But I more so meant that I can think, I can feel. I can joke, and laugh. I can dream. I can love, damn it!

Prondle had never thought of it that way. 

That’s … beautiful. 

The candle in his heart flickered to life, a small flame dancing. He had never been struck by Jarah’s words in that way. This is too weird, he thought to himself. He realized he might as well say it. This is too weird, he said to his sleeping girlfriend’s ear. 

The world is a weird place, the worm says. Isn’t it? 

Yeah, he says with a fascinated sigh. A weird, beautiful place. 

— 

A few days later, the couple are in their kitchen, Jarah is anxiously toying with the spoon sticking out of her lukewarm tea cup, Prondle staring absently at the wall. He is somewhere else, perhaps, somewhere more pleasant. 

I’m nervous about my operation, Jarah says.

Prondle is lost in thought. He’s not listening. In fact, he’s thinking about a hilarious story the worm had told him the night before. (The worm had once seen Matt Damon dining alone at an Applebee’s at the Tucson International Airport. Except, when the worm asked for his autograph, it turned out it wasn’t Matt Damon and was actually just some guy. Despite this, the worm still got his autograph and by coincidence, ended up sitting next to him on their flight. They are still facebook friends even though the worm doesn’t use facebook much anymore.) That worm is really something, he thinks to himself. How could a worm possess such humor and worldly insight? Prondle realizes he has been spoken to and must respond.

That’s awesome, he says.

Dumbass! Jarah replies, throwing a tea bag in his general direction. Didn’t you hear me? I said I’m nervous.

Oh .. uhm, don’t be, darling. I’m here for you. The doctor is the best in the business, he is very well rated.

Jarah begins to sob. I don’t know what’s going on with me. I’m not me, she says through tears. I’m a fog, I’m a prison. There’s a living thing in here, and it’s breaking my soul. 

Prondle has floated away again, thinking about how the worm recommended a French film from 1968 that he promised he would watch. He smiles thinking about his new friend.

Do you think they have french films at the local library? He asks.

—

The night before the operation, Jarah sleeps deeply. She dreams of reclaiming her brain. Prondle lays awake, whispering to the worm in her ear.

I’ve never felt so alive, he confesses.

You’re really something, Hunk, the worm says.

I love you, Prondle suddenly says. The way the words spill out of his mouth surprise him. They never sounded so strong when he said it to Jarah. It felt wrong, and dangerous, but it filled him with life. His blood rushed like Niagara falls. His heart thumped with nervous excitement.

Oh, baby, I love you too, the worm said. You are a special guy. How lucky I am to know you.

Prondle and the worm made love that night. (Word’s can’t, and shouldn’t, describe how exactly it happened. What matters is the real love that was shared between them, all the while Jarah slept deeply)

Jarah can not know about this, Prondle said after the deed was done.

She won’t baby, said the worm. 

— 

The day had come. Prondle drove Jarah to the hospital, but this time, his heart was pounding and he sped through the streets, running through red lights, slamming on his horn and racing to their destination.

Slow down, would you? You’re going to kill us! Said Jarah as they zipped through a school zone.

The car screeched into the parking lot of the hospital and Jarah was briskly wheeled to the operating room.

It’s time, Jarah thought, with a deep breath.

—

Beeping noises. Metallic clinking. Sweating doctors. The usual high stress surgical sounds filled the air.

What will you do with the worm, doc? Prondle asks. (Prondle was allowed in the operating room since this was a pretty relaxed hospital.)

I dunno, the doctor says without much interest. Suppose we could kill the fucker. 

The words stab Prondle in his heart. His eyes well up with wet salty tears. 

Ok, let’s do this, the doctor says in a pretty chill way. 

The worm is carefully pulled from Jarah’s nose while she begins to regain consciousness. It gets placed into a jar with care and precision. 

Oh god, are you okay?!?! Prondle blurts out. He falls to his knees crying. I was so worried!! 

I feel alright, Jarah says, in a haze. She sees her boyfriend weeping on his knees, but he is not talking to her. He’s holding and caressing the jar. He is talking to … the worm. 

I won’t let them hurt you, he sobs. You’re the light of my life. 

Jarah’s newly cleared mind realizes he is talking to the worm. Her heart breaks. 

I’m leaving you, you piece of shit, she says. How could you love a worm, you freak? Now it all makes sense. 

She pushes a button. A  nurse comes into the room, who she instructs to get her out of here. He proceeds to use his muscular arms to wheel her out of the room. 

Prondle drives home with the worm jar in the passenger seat, at a leisurely, lovely pace, with the worm strapped in with a seatbelt and propped up by a little pillow. They would begin their new life together, finally free from the shadows, to love each other as they had longer for. 

— 

Days and months pass. The new couple couldn’t be more in love. They laugh, joke, fuck, watch Jacques Tati movies, and do other romantic stuff. They lay under the clouds amongst picnic items, Prondle holding the worm jar closely. 

Prondle, my dear? the worm asks. 

Yes, my sweet angel? 

Would you still love me if I was a human?