MicroHorror

“Don’t drink that!” he shouted. His stomach hurt, and it made him irritable. His son lowered his can of juice with a look.

“You gotta be careful what you drink in India,” he said angrily, grabbing the juice and tossing it out onto the ground. The vendor, an old Indian guy, shook his head.

“Yeah, whatta you lookin’ at?” he growled and rubbed his belly. He pulled out his canteen and offered it to his son, who refused it with a look of disgust.

He pulled off the cork anyway, took a plug. His belly was killing him. There were little chunks in the water, probably rust from the inside of the canteen, but at least he knew where it came from. He’d stored the water for ten years since his last trip to make sure it was safe.

He went to wipe his mouth and tasted blood on his fingers. His son was looking at him.

“What–,” he said, looking down. There was a hole in his belly, and a massive worm hanging outside with a circle of sharp teeth. It bit him and thrashed to pull itself out of his belly. The other worms were waiting to get out.