On the Inside
By
Rebecca Benison
“I’m seeing some cloudiness in your lungs,” the doctor said as she held up an X-ray, squinting in the light. She was a petite brunette who didn’t look old enough to have finished medical school, Harry thought to himself.
He sighed, then coughed, as he often did when taking a deep breath lately. “So, what is it? Pneumonia? Cancer?” he asked. His reddened cheeks starkly contrasted the white of his sparse hair and mustache as the cough rattled in his chest.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” the doctor said, putting up a hand. “There’s obviously some inflammation, but I wouldn’t jump to cancer. Let’s start you on some steroids and see how you respond to that. I’m also going to prescribe an antibiotic in case it’s a bacterial infection.”
“How long before this clears up, ya think?” Harry asked.
“I’d say at least a few weeks before you’re completely clear, but I think you’ll start to feel better in a few days, at least. Just be sure to continue the prescriptions for the full two-week course to make sure we completely get this, okay?” she asked.
“You got it, doc,” he replied as he hopped off the exam table.
Harry checked himself out of the clinic, called his boss to let him know he’d be a few minutes late to work, and drove himself to the pharmacy to wait for his prescriptions.
As he held the pharmacy door open for a little old lady, he realized he wasn’t much younger than her himself. In fact, for all he knew, they could be the same age. He ran his hand through what was left of his hair and shook his head in disbelief. He then entered the store and made his way to the pharmacy counter, where there were four people ahead of him in line, including the old woman.
As Harry took his place in line, he coughed a bit, out of breath from the brief walk from the car. He then looked up at the harried pharmacist digging through medications while on the phone with a customer, then scanned the magazines on display to his left, then settled on the cotton candy-like white hair of the old woman ahead of him. As he stared, he thought he saw… movement?
Looking closely, he was sure there was something moving in her hair. He looked around to make sure nobody caught him staring so intently at the woman, then looked again. Among the fluffy white curls, a small, wriggling white worm that nearly blended right in. He blinked hard, looked away, and looked back. Yes, he was sure he was seeing it. Should he tell her?
Just as he was about to tap her shoulder, she quickly marched forward toward the counter. He hadn’t even noticed they’d been moving up in line as he was staring at the back of the woman’s head. As he debated whether or not to say anything, she procured her prescription, added a bag of chocolates to the total, and paid her bill. He almost stopped her as she walked back past him but then the pharmacist called “Next!” and Harry shuffled over to complete his own transaction.
As the pharmacist searched through the orders ready for pick-up, Harry cleared his throat and coughed into his hand while absently looking down at the counter. Out of the corner of his eye, near the credit card reader, he saw it. He jumped to the side and watched intently to make sure it stayed far away from him. As the pharmacist returned to the counter with his prescriptions, Harry grabbed them from the young man’s hands and put them on the floor next to him, then picked them up again when he realized the woman might have shed some worms on the ground, too. He clutched the paper bag to his chest with one hand while digging his wallet from his pocket with the other.
“How much I owe you?” Harry asked the surprised pharmacist. “Uh, that’ll be $78, sir,” the young man answered.
“Fuck!” Harry yelled. He balanced his wallet on the edge of the counter and weaseled his credit card out from its slot. He inspected the credit card reader, but didn’t see the offending worm now. He inserted his card, bobbed his head impatiently as he waited for the “Approved” text to appear, and shoved the card and wallet back into his pocket together. He didn’t even wait for the receipt to print as he promptly turned and navigated his way out of the store. Back at his car, he put the small bag on the hood and feverishly brushed off his arms, torso, pants, and even his hair. The thought of bringing those creatures back home with him – on him – made him shudder. He had a hacking fit thinking about it, then gathered up his bag and got in the car.
The entire drive to work, Harry felt like things were crawling on him. He had one hand on the steering wheel and the other scratching his neck, his head, and his chest alternately while occasionally swatting at his legs. By the time he got to the office, his skin was streaked red and blotchy. He’d put his medication in his briefcase, dropped it off at his desk, and went straight to the bathroom to wash his face and inspect himself in the mirror. Satisfied, he returned to his desk and read the labels on his prescriptions while waiting for his computer to start up. They were best taken with food, so he took the banana he’d packed earlier and got a glass of water from the water cooler.
“How’ya doin’ Harry?” a middle-aged man asked him as passed by in the hall.
“Quite the morning,” Harry replied.
He returned to his desk and checked his email while eating the banana. He then tossed the peel into the small trash can under his desk and took the two pills from their respective containers. In one motion, he downed both of them and chased them with the glass of cold water. After two successful gulps, he sputtered on the third and began a hacking cough. Nobody paid much mind; they were all used to hearing Harry cough throughout the workday. Eventually he recovered, and picked up the glass he’d put down on the desk when the coughing fit began.
As he raised the glass to his lips, he saw something floating in the water. He put it down and looked closer. A worm! A tiny, wriggling white worm was swimming in his water glass – the one he’d just been drinking from. He gagged, and had just enough time to pick up the garbage pail and regurgitate the banana and what little water he’d just drunk a moment ago.
“Harry! You okay?” a concerned woman popped her head over the cubicle wall.
He spit into the pail and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “It’s been quite the morning,” he said roughly, watching the worm swimming in his glass. “Quite the morning.”
He returned to the water cooler and got a fresh cup of water. He inspected it, then poured it down the sink and refilled the cup with more water. No worms. He closely inspected the cooler itself and could see no movement in the water jug. Just to be sure, he poured out the second glass and refilled the cup a third time. Still nothing. Had the worm been on him earlier? Maybe in his mustache?
The thought sent a chill up his spine. He walked briskly to the bathroom and again inspected himself in the mirror, this time focusing on the area around his mouth. He couldn’t see anything, but a small white worm would be hard to spot in his wiry white facial hair. He took some soap and water and scrubbed his entire face, focusing on the mustache. When he was done, he cupped his hands, filled them with water and sucked it into his mouth to swish around and gargle.
The gargling set off his cough again, and he coughed and spat into the sink. As he recovered, he looked down and to his horror, found another worm squirming in the sink basin. He took more water into his mouth, swished it around and spat it out to find two more worms now wriggling in the sink.
“Oh G-d,” he said in a whisper. “Oh fuck.”
He pulled his phone from his pocket and called the doctor. “I gotta come back,” he said as the receptionist picked up the call. “I gotta come back now. I’m coming back,” he said, hanging up the call before the person on the other end had a chance to respond. He retrieved his briefcase from his desk and left without a word to anyone.
He threw the briefcase onto the passenger seat as he opened his car door and got in. He hadn’t even buckled himself in before hurriedly backing out of his parking spot, and didn’t notice the car behind him slamming on its brakes and honking at him after the near-collision. Pulling out of the parking lot, he narrowly avoided getting into another accident that he had no awareness of before speeding along the highway back toward the doctor’s office.
As he began coughing again, he started to gag. He covered his mouth with his sleeve and looked down to find that indeed, another worm had been expelled from his lungs.
He didn’t notice the red light ahead, or the cars streaming across the intersection. Retching into his sleeve, Harry drove straight into the driver’s side rear end of a pickup truck, causing his car to spin twice before flipping over. He was partially ejected during the melee, with his car coming to rest over the upper part of his body that’d been flung through the window.
The driver of the pickup and a witness pulled over and got out of their cars to inspect the damage. The first woman on the scene saw Harry’s legs contorted in the flipped vehicle and followed them down to where the rest of him should be. As she realized what she was looking at, she gasped and covered her mouth with both hands as she instinctively turned her head away. The driver of the pickup approached and looked to the woman, who looked back at him and pointed toward Harry’s car, unable to say anything.
He followed the direction of her pointing at Harry’s car, took in the horror of blood pooling below, and promptly vomited onto the pavement.
As the two drivers waited for emergency services as far from the carnage as they could be, a crow approached the crash site. It hopped to the sanguine puddle snaking across the ground and pecked at the wriggling white worms it contained.
A professional storyteller, Rebecca Benison’s weekdays are spent connecting with audiences on behalf of brands, while her nights and weekends are devoted to fiction. Her work has been published in the Workers Write! literary journal, Empyrean Literary Magazine, Newsday, the Long Island Herald, and a host of other publications. She recently released her debut novel, Harvest Cruise, with Chicken House Press.
Amazon.com: Harvest Cruise: 9781990336652: Benison, Rebecca: Books
Harvest Cruise by Rebecca Benison | Goodreads
By
Rebecca Benison
“I’m seeing some cloudiness in your lungs,” the doctor said as she held up an X-ray, squinting in the light. She was a petite brunette who didn’t look old enough to have finished medical school, Harry thought to himself.
He sighed, then coughed, as he often did when taking a deep breath lately. “So, what is it? Pneumonia? Cancer?” he asked. His reddened cheeks starkly contrasted the white of his sparse hair and mustache as the cough rattled in his chest.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” the doctor said, putting up a hand. “There’s obviously some inflammation, but I wouldn’t jump to cancer. Let’s start you on some steroids and see how you respond to that. I’m also going to prescribe an antibiotic in case it’s a bacterial infection.”
“How long before this clears up, ya think?” Harry asked.
“I’d say at least a few weeks before you’re completely clear, but I think you’ll start to feel better in a few days, at least. Just be sure to continue the prescriptions for the full two-week course to make sure we completely get this, okay?” she asked.
“You got it, doc,” he replied as he hopped off the exam table.
Harry checked himself out of the clinic, called his boss to let him know he’d be a few minutes late to work, and drove himself to the pharmacy to wait for his prescriptions.
As he held the pharmacy door open for a little old lady, he realized he wasn’t much younger than her himself. In fact, for all he knew, they could be the same age. He ran his hand through what was left of his hair and shook his head in disbelief. He then entered the store and made his way to the pharmacy counter, where there were four people ahead of him in line, including the old woman.
As Harry took his place in line, he coughed a bit, out of breath from the brief walk from the car. He then looked up at the harried pharmacist digging through medications while on the phone with a customer, then scanned the magazines on display to his left, then settled on the cotton candy-like white hair of the old woman ahead of him. As he stared, he thought he saw… movement?
Looking closely, he was sure there was something moving in her hair. He looked around to make sure nobody caught him staring so intently at the woman, then looked again. Among the fluffy white curls, a small, wriggling white worm that nearly blended right in. He blinked hard, looked away, and looked back. Yes, he was sure he was seeing it. Should he tell her?
Just as he was about to tap her shoulder, she quickly marched forward toward the counter. He hadn’t even noticed they’d been moving up in line as he was staring at the back of the woman’s head. As he debated whether or not to say anything, she procured her prescription, added a bag of chocolates to the total, and paid her bill. He almost stopped her as she walked back past him but then the pharmacist called “Next!” and Harry shuffled over to complete his own transaction.
As the pharmacist searched through the orders ready for pick-up, Harry cleared his throat and coughed into his hand while absently looking down at the counter. Out of the corner of his eye, near the credit card reader, he saw it. He jumped to the side and watched intently to make sure it stayed far away from him. As the pharmacist returned to the counter with his prescriptions, Harry grabbed them from the young man’s hands and put them on the floor next to him, then picked them up again when he realized the woman might have shed some worms on the ground, too. He clutched the paper bag to his chest with one hand while digging his wallet from his pocket with the other.
“How much I owe you?” Harry asked the surprised pharmacist. “Uh, that’ll be $78, sir,” the young man answered.
“Fuck!” Harry yelled. He balanced his wallet on the edge of the counter and weaseled his credit card out from its slot. He inspected the credit card reader, but didn’t see the offending worm now. He inserted his card, bobbed his head impatiently as he waited for the “Approved” text to appear, and shoved the card and wallet back into his pocket together. He didn’t even wait for the receipt to print as he promptly turned and navigated his way out of the store. Back at his car, he put the small bag on the hood and feverishly brushed off his arms, torso, pants, and even his hair. The thought of bringing those creatures back home with him – on him – made him shudder. He had a hacking fit thinking about it, then gathered up his bag and got in the car.
The entire drive to work, Harry felt like things were crawling on him. He had one hand on the steering wheel and the other scratching his neck, his head, and his chest alternately while occasionally swatting at his legs. By the time he got to the office, his skin was streaked red and blotchy. He’d put his medication in his briefcase, dropped it off at his desk, and went straight to the bathroom to wash his face and inspect himself in the mirror. Satisfied, he returned to his desk and read the labels on his prescriptions while waiting for his computer to start up. They were best taken with food, so he took the banana he’d packed earlier and got a glass of water from the water cooler.
“How’ya doin’ Harry?” a middle-aged man asked him as passed by in the hall.
“Quite the morning,” Harry replied.
He returned to his desk and checked his email while eating the banana. He then tossed the peel into the small trash can under his desk and took the two pills from their respective containers. In one motion, he downed both of them and chased them with the glass of cold water. After two successful gulps, he sputtered on the third and began a hacking cough. Nobody paid much mind; they were all used to hearing Harry cough throughout the workday. Eventually he recovered, and picked up the glass he’d put down on the desk when the coughing fit began.
As he raised the glass to his lips, he saw something floating in the water. He put it down and looked closer. A worm! A tiny, wriggling white worm was swimming in his water glass – the one he’d just been drinking from. He gagged, and had just enough time to pick up the garbage pail and regurgitate the banana and what little water he’d just drunk a moment ago.
“Harry! You okay?” a concerned woman popped her head over the cubicle wall.
He spit into the pail and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “It’s been quite the morning,” he said roughly, watching the worm swimming in his glass. “Quite the morning.”
He returned to the water cooler and got a fresh cup of water. He inspected it, then poured it down the sink and refilled the cup with more water. No worms. He closely inspected the cooler itself and could see no movement in the water jug. Just to be sure, he poured out the second glass and refilled the cup a third time. Still nothing. Had the worm been on him earlier? Maybe in his mustache?
The thought sent a chill up his spine. He walked briskly to the bathroom and again inspected himself in the mirror, this time focusing on the area around his mouth. He couldn’t see anything, but a small white worm would be hard to spot in his wiry white facial hair. He took some soap and water and scrubbed his entire face, focusing on the mustache. When he was done, he cupped his hands, filled them with water and sucked it into his mouth to swish around and gargle.
The gargling set off his cough again, and he coughed and spat into the sink. As he recovered, he looked down and to his horror, found another worm squirming in the sink basin. He took more water into his mouth, swished it around and spat it out to find two more worms now wriggling in the sink.
“Oh G-d,” he said in a whisper. “Oh fuck.”
He pulled his phone from his pocket and called the doctor. “I gotta come back,” he said as the receptionist picked up the call. “I gotta come back now. I’m coming back,” he said, hanging up the call before the person on the other end had a chance to respond. He retrieved his briefcase from his desk and left without a word to anyone.
He threw the briefcase onto the passenger seat as he opened his car door and got in. He hadn’t even buckled himself in before hurriedly backing out of his parking spot, and didn’t notice the car behind him slamming on its brakes and honking at him after the near-collision. Pulling out of the parking lot, he narrowly avoided getting into another accident that he had no awareness of before speeding along the highway back toward the doctor’s office.
As he began coughing again, he started to gag. He covered his mouth with his sleeve and looked down to find that indeed, another worm had been expelled from his lungs.
He didn’t notice the red light ahead, or the cars streaming across the intersection. Retching into his sleeve, Harry drove straight into the driver’s side rear end of a pickup truck, causing his car to spin twice before flipping over. He was partially ejected during the melee, with his car coming to rest over the upper part of his body that’d been flung through the window.
The driver of the pickup and a witness pulled over and got out of their cars to inspect the damage. The first woman on the scene saw Harry’s legs contorted in the flipped vehicle and followed them down to where the rest of him should be. As she realized what she was looking at, she gasped and covered her mouth with both hands as she instinctively turned her head away. The driver of the pickup approached and looked to the woman, who looked back at him and pointed toward Harry’s car, unable to say anything.
He followed the direction of her pointing at Harry’s car, took in the horror of blood pooling below, and promptly vomited onto the pavement.
As the two drivers waited for emergency services as far from the carnage as they could be, a crow approached the crash site. It hopped to the sanguine puddle snaking across the ground and pecked at the wriggling white worms it contained.
A professional storyteller, Rebecca Benison’s weekdays are spent connecting with audiences on behalf of brands, while her nights and weekends are devoted to fiction. Her work has been published in the Workers Write! literary journal, Empyrean Literary Magazine, Newsday, the Long Island Herald, and a host of other publications. She recently released her debut novel, Harvest Cruise, with Chicken House Press.
Amazon.com: Harvest Cruise: 9781990336652: Benison, Rebecca: Books
Harvest Cruise by Rebecca Benison | Goodreads
