Organic Matter

It was a vibration in his head that woke him. A very loud and painful vibration whose source turned out to be an alarm clock buried beneath the debris on the bedside table. In trying to find the damn thing, pulling at the clothes and unidentifiable paper products, he managed to knock the alarm to the ground where it continued to shriek. Rolling from bed in a jumble of blankets he cursed as he ripped apart the mound, now replaced to the floor, finally managing to turn off the machine on his third attempt.
He leaned back against the base of the bed cradling his head in his arms. The source of the pain had not been the alarm. His head felt as if he had not recently rolled out of bed but had just disembarked from a very long and nauseating ride at an amusement park. A feeling of vertigo while sitting on the floor could only mean one thing; Mr. Jack Daniels had paid a visit the night before. With a moan he managed to get himself in an upright position and make his way to the bathroom.
His reflection over the sink stared back with contempt. Not long ago he had been a young sturdy buck, muscular and cocky in his assurance as an alpha male. What remained was a ghost of this former self. Not only was his frame slight and shrunken, but his very stature seemed to have diminished. One would expect such a body to be attached to a balding and spectacled head, yet his handsome and chiseled, if now emaciated, features and full head of hair lent a bizarre aspect to his appearance.
After a quick lukewarm shower ( the water heater never had a ready supply of hot water in the mornings) he optimistically felt he could stomach a bit of food before heading to work as an inspector for the FDA. My God how he hated his job.
Gazing at the contents of his pantry a renewed sense of contempt for the gullibility of the general public crept over him. Organic was the craze, no pesticides, hormones, or processing for them. Ha. Most were happily unaware of the disgusting contents of what they perceived the most pure of victuals. He grabbed a box of oatmeal, the traditional, old fashioned variety, and put a pot of water on the stove.
With a trance-like concentration he looked at the water as it began to warm. The first to appear were the Giardia, swimming happily in their warm environment, looking very much like gray catfish with the texture of a brain except for the long tentacles protruding from all sides. A mild irritant to most people, no problem. But then came along the much smaller but also much more deadly liver flukes which caused bloating and pain, making one pray for the alleviation only death could bring before fulfilling its host’s desperate wish.
The water began to bubble, its occupants appearing to jump along the surface like swimmers in a mildly turbulent sea. Still in a fugue he looked wonderingly at the box he held in his hand. Frustration and outrage prevailed.
Knowing now it was useless, he violently threw the oatmeal in the general direction of the trash can where it landed on an ever increasing pile of boxes. The oatmeal spilled from its package upon landing, spewing not the expected golden round flakes, but a menagerie of insect parts; ant heads with lifeless antennae, grasshopper legs, and the tattered wings of flies. “Well”, he thought hysterically, “a certain amount of these organic materials were allowable.” He laughed as he watched this new addition to the mound become covered with an assortment of scavenging bacteria, a regular zoo of the microscopic world.
With a resigned calm he opened the refrigerator door. Just as he thought. The carton of eggs lay opened, one egg inexplicitly broken. Crawling from inside and now covering the entire contents were what appeared to be ugly little caterpillars but which he knew to be salmonella. Everything inside was crawling with its own unique species. As he slowly closed the door he noticed the long line of whiskey bottles lined above his head, half of which were empty. Again with an air of resignation he took hold of the first full bottle. These containers alone, in a room full of mysterious life forms was pure and serenely quite of activity. He uncapped the bottle and began to drink as if a child with an especially favorite treat, savoring the taste as it rolled across his tongue and burned his throat.
Feeling more composed he took his overcoat from the hook and picked up his briefcase. He was actually looking forward to leaving this mess and going off to his despised occupation. His eyes went to his hand reaching out to open the door. This was a new development.
Since taking the job of inspector for the FDA two months ago he had continuously been more and more aware of the added bonus his sustenance contained until he could actually see them crawling and reproducing, rendering him unable to eat.
Now he raised his hand to eye level with a numbing feeling of dread. Thousands of tiny life forms in a variety of shapes inhabited every inch of his flesh. He absently brushed his hand with the other, disrupting the activity only for a moment. He then began to rub more furtively, desperation and disgust marring his already distorted features. Falling to his knees he rubbed and scratched at his skin, smearing his hands with blood. Pausing now, he watched with a rapidly accelerated sense of horror as these intruders fed on his own bodily fluids. Now beginning to sob he began to spread the blood over his face as he rubbed and then scratched at his eyes, a scream finally escaping from his tortured form.
A short time later the phone began to ring in the empty house. The only sign of life, crawling by the thousands over a seemingly discarded pile of clothes by the front door, was undetectable to the human eye.