Why I am Late and Covered in Blood

It wasn’t a fucking worm. It was veins. I pulled and pulled and pulled and it never stopped coming, like I was some magic, idiot clown obsessed with the infinite nature of his pockets. I mean, yeah, it looked like a worm at first. Even smelled like one. I didn’t know until I already had it between my fingers. It didn’t start shitting blood everywhere until I had about a foot of it out of the ground. By then, I knew it was veins, but who just stops pulling on something like that? What if I could have saved it, whatever it was? If it bleeds, it lives, right? And I swear I could hear breathing down there. I didn’t have a shovel. I figure it would be like roots, you know, like if I pulled enough of them up the whole thing would eventually come free. But it didn’t, nothing came free. Just veins and veins and piles of fucking veins. I guess they could have been arteries. But not worms. I just can’t believe I thought it was a worm. Next time, I’m just going to keep walking, even if the grass starts screaming at me.

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