Murder!

Internet, man…my dandelion was murdered.

It’s funny—I was plotting a murder mystery that day. I had such a nice timeline, twenty-seven years leading up to the murder, then the murder itself, then the investigation. I had my suspect file and my evidence file, my neat little margin-notes, but I missed the crime under my nose.

Those spiky bits aren’t plant parts. They’re bugs. Thirsty bugs. They’re an army of bugs, sucking dandelion milk. I looked at them and didn’t see. Or I saw, but I didn’t understand. I thought they were plant hairs. I thought they were pretty, the way they caught the light. How did they get up here, so many bugs? They don’t look like they can fly. Maybe the wind blew them, like it blew my dandelion. (Some gumshoe I’d make. I haven’t a clue.)

The worst part is, I never noticed the bugs. A friend of mine did. He pointed them out to me. Maybe I was distracted. I’ve had this sore throat lately, this awful sore throat. It’s been dogging me since February, flaring up and dying down. It’s flaring right now, though I’m on penicillin. It must not be a bacterial infection. (Though, my optic neuritis seems to be clearing up. That must be bacterial. Why are there bacteria in my eyes? And what the fuck is with my throat? Can it really hurt this much, just from acid reflux? It’s annoying, so annoying—it itches, y’know? It’s like bugs, almost, one on the left and one on the right, wiggling their antennae on my tonsils…what is that? What’s murdering me?)

…but, seriously, that’s a shit-ton of bugs. Next year, if I get a dandelion (if my throat-bugs haven’t killed me), I’ll put a net over it. No bugs allowed.

(I really can’t focus on anything but my throat. Well, work and my throat. Work, because I have to do it; my throat, because it itches and burns and itches and scratches and catches and scrapes and it’s driving me mad, and I don’t want to die. Make it stop.)

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