They should've known better than to ask for blood tests.

Nathan had wondered if it would kill them slowly, infecting them and waiting until the right time to strike. But it had been impatient. As soon as the syringe left his body, the blood in it was no longer controlled by his own will. It shattered its useless container, reaching out with long red tendrils and traveling down their throats, joining with the bloodstream until it finally reached their hearts. The doctors collapsed to the floor, their hearts stopped. Nathan almost pitied them. They hadn't lived long enough to see that their deaths were a consequence of their own actions.

But he didn't have time for pity. No one would pity him when they found him surrounded by bodies, the blood in their veins still thrumming through their corpses even after death. He ran from the hospital, careful not to be seen. It wasn't fond of being looked at.

When Nathan reached his home, he locked the doors, barred the windows, and ran to the mirror. He stared in horror at his eyes, which were bright red, covered in blood.

It had already happened.

He was too late.

"No, no no no," he whispered. He tore off his glasses and clawed at his eyes. If he could just get them out, maybe he would be safe. Maybe it would be gone.

His hands stopped in their tracks. Nathan knew instantly that he was no longer in control.

It was angry.

His limbs jerked around like puppets on a string, the blood in his veins pulled the rest of his body along. His heart started and stopped. It wanted him dead.

But maybe death was better than having it reach his brain. Having Nathan become a prisoner in his own body, just a vessel for a parasite that grew stronger every day.

It wanted to leave. It was going to get rid of him. He was no longer a good host.

"No, please!" Nathan whimpered. It ignored him.

"PLEASE!" he screamed again. "I don't want to die."

But it didn't care. It would live on without him. He was a necessary casualty.

"Why me?" he asked. Why had he been chosen, forced to spend the last three weeks with a parasite attatched to his blood? Why was he forced to choose between death and spreading it to another?

It was getting impatient. It was time for it to leave.

Every drop of blood in his body moved at once. Nathan screamed, once, twice, three times as his blood vessels ripped apart, a flood of the dark red liquid bursting out. He was shredded to pieces. His own blood was pulled out of his skin, leaving trenches in his flesh where the vessels used to be.

Nathan's corpse fell to the ground. It reached out the tendrils of blood and flew out of the room. It would need to find a new host. A better one.

It went out to hunt.

What I thought was going to be a typical cleaning turned out to be more than just scraping tartar, a quick floss and an x-ray. As soon as I placed my head in the donut pillow, she laid the lead blanket over my shoulders and chest. But this one felt like an engine block lowered onto my sternum. Before I could spit anything out of my mouth, my wrists and ankles were strapped to the chair. The hygienist smiled at me and purred, "The doctor will be in shortly."

After a few half-breaths, he turned the corner and entered the stark white room wearing a paper face cover and a clear plastic shield over his eyes. His gloves were purple and smelled like grape as he reached into my mouth with forceps. Except he didn't pull out a tooth.

I started gagging as he reached down my throat with those long metal pliers. The gagging was replaced with a jolting pain inside my neck. He started tugging and wiggling and let out a little grunt. As a tiny, mirthful squeal escaped from the hygienist, I felt a grotesque ripping inside my chest.

He stood up from his chair and yanked a little harder. I tried to scream, but instead of sound, my inverted esophagus came out. He gave the clamped forceps to the hygienist and she gleefully tugged while he reached closer to my mouth. "The stomach is the hardest part to pull out," he explained while winking at me. I imagined this was undoubtedly worse than giving birth as the foul smelling gastric juices burned my lips and face on the way out.

He continued to pull the thin strip of tubing that was my small intestine hand over hand. The hygienist walked backwards out the door as my intestines kept coming and coming. It felt like my belly button was being pulled inward by a string, shrinking my abdomen flat. An odd thought crossed my mind: I was glad that I hadn't eaten breakfast this morning before coming.

It seemed like forever that the cord unfurled out of my mouth, until I finally felt a tug on my asshole. The hygienist had just reentered the room after making a grand loop around the office with my GI system. Only the tip of my large intestine peeked past my lips.

The last thing I heard before losing consciousness was the dentist asking me which color toothbrush I wanted.