Mark’s first instinct was to grab a beer while he studied his spouse’s new device and waited with growing impatience for Brad to make his appearance.
On the way to the fridge, he strained to listen for the faint buzz of insect wings as he stepped over the tiny maggot wriggling helplessly on the kitchen tiles.
A carton of takeout rice from their favorite Thai place blocked his access to the beers, so he moved it aside. In his haste to pull out a frosty bottle, he clipped the carton, knocking it to the floor. In an instant, hundreds of white rice grains spilled over the floor, engulfing one tiny maggot of a similar color, shape and size in a tide of rice.
Mark cursed loudly. Already irritable from Brad’s weird phone call and now his no-show, spilling the carton of rice capped off the aggravating situation.
Putting his beer aside on the table, he fetched the broom from the utility closet and began to sweep the scattered rice grains into a tidy heap. The bristles on the underside of the broom swept back and forth over the tiles, corralling the rice and one tiny maggot into a manageable heap. Once that was accomplished, Mark fetched the dustpan. He bended his knees, dropping one to the floor, grunted and maneuvered the broom to deposit the cleanup into the blue plastic dustpan.
For the tiny eyeless maggot, the chaos of the sweeping had been followed by the sensation of finding itself in an avalanche of cooked rice grains as the bristles of the broom gathered everything together in a compact pile before scooping everything into the dustpan.
With another grunt, Mark arose and carried the dustpan the short distance to the kitchen trash container. Although nearly full, enough space remained to dump the rice and one unnoticed little maggot before he returned to the table and began to study the strange device.
Tiny Brad’s wiggling of his maggot form caused him to plunge deeper into the trash until he came to rest on a semi-solid surface. It was simply a slice of discarded meatloaf, now several days old, but it was perfect for allowing Brad to sink his odd mouth into the putrefying meatloaf and to begin burrowing happily through the slice, using his raspy rows of “teeth” to shred fragments into nutritious bites that could pass deeper into his tube-shaped form. Despite his earlier shock and confusion, he lost himself in the process of eating, which is the primary function of his new form.
Meanwhile, Mark was at a loss as he tried to familiarize himself with the device. He punched random buttons, a habit that had always driven Brad to fits, until he got a screen that offered two options.
“Save and Browse” or “Save and End.”
“Better not risk losing anything he’s done,” he muttered and chose to save and end with a mere click.
“Oh for crying out…” Mark exclaimed as he watched the device go dark.