There are millions of me and we all want to feast at the same rotting flesh that the bacteria in the plasma has opened up for us. I’m hungry and I know I will not live for long if I can’t eat the flesh.

Desperate.

I try and heave myself farther as I crawl over the other maggots attached to this wound but I can’t seem to find an opening. I am crawled over and beaten, pushed out of the way and trampled. The others are much stronger than I am and are able to eat first, leaving me behind. I am bruised, squished and hurt but I still persist.

Growing weaker.

I can’t push the others out of the way because I am becoming weak, and they have already latched onto the flesh. I inch my way further and push with all my might to try and feed. I squirm further as I approach the flesh. Seeing an opening, I latch onto the surface. Finally, I can relax and know that I will be alright for a while.

Becoming calm.

Before you know it, I am laying on the pavement around my brethren. It turns out the body we were invading was a live one and most of us were peeled off, resulting in a hard fall to the ground below. And then everything turns black.

Dark.

Cold.

I feel immense pain within my small body as I try to move to safety, but the leather sole of a boot ascends as I come to. I feel the liquid release from my body, the goo and puss creep out from my now open sores. I scream and beg for my life and then only scream some more.

Worthless.

I crawl as fast as I can towards the grass nearby. I finally make it and I hide in the blades, which sound like another weapon that can be used to hurt me.

I made it.

I made it out alive, but I’m tired, I’m sore and I’m more weak than before.

I rest.

I see the others still laying on the pavement, all of whom have met their demise. There are many others still attempting to flee to safety, squirming as fast as they possibly can to freedom.

I’m not sure if I can make it to more food or if there will be another opportunity for me to eat. I’ve come so far and I made it, but peace was once again yanked from my grasp.

Inferior.

This is feeling trapped, with no escape, always hitting a dead end.

This is not living, but merely existing.

This is barely living, but dying just to get ahead.

This is the infestation.