I'm rotting inside
My flesh turns to dust
Another revolution.
Another death.
Another birth.
It considers briefly if it had been her - Aletheia - that quickened the cycle or if it was merely time. During the autumn months its shuddered away from flesh and muscle. It became barely more than a skeleton. Its sickly green eyes were retreating until one day in the sunlight they melted away. Blood turned to dust and it felt the ground coil around its bones.
Another death.
It never knows how long it is collapsed in a heat. It remembers watching a thunderstorm pass by and cleanse its stained skeleton followed by more sunlight to bleach it anew. It could feel the fungus and bugs crawl across its corpse until there was a loud crack. Then the sound of something dragging through the leaves. Its bones are drawn to each other, its own gravitational pull. Piece by piece it comes together like a puzzle. The bare bones stand together in a most unnatural way as blood, flesh, and muscle thread along the skeleton. Slowly, it's coming to life. Its naked skull is last to be reincarnated with true skin. Then its eyes with a stare so familiar and hollow.
Another birth.
A breath is pulled into its rejuvenated lungs when it takes a step forward. Then another and another.
In... Out... In... Out...
It almost forgot how to breathe. Once its body begins to decay, the organs shrivel and it loses use of them. As the cycle draws to an end there is no feasible way that it should be able to walk and function, but it does.
And, oh, does it thrive!
Except now.
The world isn't providing it enough to feast on. Even in its rejuvenated state Infection still appears thinner than usual. Its skin is stretched taut across its ribs and muscles. The nightcrawler is typically an image of health and strength during this time but it's hungry. Those sickly green eyes stare across the field. It's searching, waiting, living.
infection