If there were only a way to excise these things he felt. If the heavy lump that sat somewhere in his chest could be removed. And not just taken out, but thrown, launched, propelled through the air and some great distance away.
If that could happen, then, he thought, maybe he’d feel better.
It wouldn’t be that easy. The operation would be messy, he’d have to really dig in and root around to find it, as it surely wouldn’t want to be discovered. It must be comfortable, there, inside him, growing slowly. Feeding and sleeping and occasionally raring and roaring.
Prompt courtesy of the Daily Post.