I was sick to the teeth with it, this butterfly fluttering about inside my stomach.
‘Are you anxious?’ they asked me as I coughed up a little sick.
‘I’m not anxious, I feel fine! It’s this thing living inside my stomach! I think we need to get it out!’
So I grab a knife and start hacking away at my stomach. it hurts but the shaking feeling each day hurts me even more. It restricts me, it predicts me.
So I’m bleeding out and I get my friend to root around while wearing washing up gloves. He pulls out my intestines, and I yell at him to put them back in. Then he picks up the stomach which is full of holes, and a yellow butterfly is trying to squirm away, escape.
As it flutters on out, my friend drops the stomach, it splatters against the fake wood floor. I roll over to catch the insect and rip off it’s wings, push my finger onto it’s puny head. The butterflies have left me.
But no one in the room knows how to stitch me up.
But I feel fine.
‘No wait, stop stop stop! We’ve been through all this before!’ I suddenly shout as I consider the whole situation. I stand up, walk over to my stomach, then stuff it back into my gaping wound. I then find some sellotape on the counter and use it to tape up my belly. Everything is sort of in the right place, it doesn’t really bother me, and I walk outside to face another day.