I crawl between the strands of curly hair in my abode. And that’s when I see green discharge that is clumpy, but not too clumpy. The perfect mixture of voluptuous and thin.

She’s perfect. Who is this girl? What is the cause of this change in my abode? 

“Chlamydia.” I overhear a man’s voice, “not another,” I think. But this time, he doesn’t invade our abode. He simply tells my host that she has “Chlamydia.” I don’t know what he means at first, but he begins to explain the symptoms. He’s talking about the girl and the beautiful flowing liquid pouring from my host – it’s better than the usual, if you ask me, but I’ve been told I have questionable taste. 

“God, this sucks! We should find another host. I want out of here. DISGUSTING,” yells my buddy. 

“HEY! Don’t speak about her like that!” I scream. I rush over to him and I rip his head off. 

“NOBODY ELSE SPEAKS OF HER LIKE THAT, YOU UNDERSTAND ME!?” I scream at my remaining companions. God, I never act like this, but she does something to me. I hear squirts of appreciation from the sidelines. 

I walk over and introduce myself. She returns the favour in her language. But even though so many barriers stand between us, I want this more than anything. That’s when I hear a zipper. “Oh man! Time to hide! I can’t get transferred now!” But it isn’t the usual. She applies a cream, sticking my entire family and me to the skin. But then it starts to burn. The chemicals make it hard to breathe. I look over at Chlamydia, and luckily, she seems unaffected by the cream. “Thank god,” I think. This must have been a targeted attack from my host. I pray for the safety of the girl, and in my last minutes alive, I look at her longingly, imagining what might have been. 

That’s when I hear an agitating voice, “How long will the pills take to get rid of the chlamydia?”, my host says. My heart sinks. They’re coming after her – I fight to get up, fighting against the cream. I manage to stand and trudge over to her. I try to grab her to get her out of here, but she resists and makes a sweet, contented sound. I know what she means. She wants us to stay. She wants us to die together. A part of me wants to argue – hoping that there could be more for us after this. I know that can’t happen. Even if we made it out, we’d die without a host. I settle in, sit down, and cuddle into her greenness. Together, we drift off into a deep sleep, and I hope that there is an afterlife so our story doesn’t end here. 

Author’s Note: Use condoms.