The Wriggle from WithinFebruary 17th, 2010 by Sharkchild
The Wriggle from Within came quite suddenly in my mind. It poked through thoughts and memories and dreams with curious longings and ambivalent probing. I felt it there as pressure in my head—a headache but worse—a migraine, but still worse. I liked it, that wriggle from within that came quite suddenly in my mind. I liked it not because it was there or that it was not; I just liked knowing that it was what it was.
As fast as the Wriggle from Within would come, it would leave. I had no control over its whereabouts, or comings, or goings. I knew little about it other than that it wriggled from within. When it came, I wished it would leave. And when it was gone, I wished it would come.
It toyed with me—that thing that wriggled, that thing from within. It was what I wanted and hated, and what I loved and loathed. Oh, how I wished to tear at my head, to rip it in two and find inside what might have been mine or might have been lost in membranes of time.
On my deathbed I sang to the blue of the sky and the brown of the earth to hold inside my death the Wriggle from Within. But Death told me sternly that I could not bring with me such a nuisance of discord. It would move on, Death said, to new lands and new things. I defied those words and held on tight, but when the light came to take me, I could not go. So I stayed with the Wriggle from Within long into the deep, dark night.