Mushroom love

He could hear them whisper under the floor boards, he had made sure. His Darling, he purred, fingertips so dirty he could smell them, her, on his fingers. Like tattoos are ink under skin he had rubbed his fingers raw, digging and digging and now, months later his fingertips stained with them, her. It had been five days, five days since he ate anything and the water bottles were running out. Lying with his ear to the wood he listened to her sing through them and he wept with the sudden pang of longing in his heart. Her voice were hooks in his guts. Ever since that night she had closed her eyes and he had fed her to the system of fungus growing all around the house and now they were her, and soon, soon, they were both of them. 

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2 Comments

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2 responses to “Mushroom love

  1. ❤ yesssss. Excellent.

    Have you read the anthology Fungi, by Innsmouth Press? It's a book filled with stories about mushrooms and other fungi. I'm soon done with it (spacing it out to make it last longer) and will put up a review soon. I really recommend it!

    One small grammar thing: I think it should be "Her voice was hooks" rather than were, though I'm not a hundred percent on why I think that.

    • I haven’t no. I will look for the review.

      you know I was wondering about that same grammar and came to the conclusion that it was right, hmmm… I will have to think on it.

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