Symbiotic—that was the word. They said it a lot, along with a bunch of other words. Win-win. The next step in human evolution. A paradigm shift. Big words for bold claims.
But he was skeptical. More than that, he was grossed out. After all, he had always hated mushrooms: their rotting scent, their spongy texture. At least, he imagined they must feel spongy. He had never touched one, let alone let one colonize him. The thought of that scent following him all day, those red-orange caps popping up from his skin—it was the stuff of nightmares. Objectively terrifying.
So why did they look so happy about it?
Honestly, he didn’t want to know. If he were any healthier, he wouldn’t have to listen to their claims, wouldn’t have to be visited by their so-called pharmaceutical reps who stunk of fungus, wouldn’t have to look at their too-pale eyes or their too-wide smiles.
But he was short on time, short on options. He knew it. They knew it.
“We are very proud of our results,” the rep said, strangely serene for a man with quarter-sized mushroom caps growing like scales along his arms. “One hundred percent success. Not a single outlier. Every single one of our patients has reclaimed their mobility, renewed their energy, and gotten back out into the world!”
He wanted to tell the rep where he could shove his mushrooms, but his eye-tracking communicator wasn’t equipped with such colorful expressions. He had already lost his ability to speak, his ability to hold a pen, his ability to do much more than lie in a bed and wonder how slowly death would come.
“Those results,” the rep continued, “are why our procedure is fully covered by every major insurance company. In fact, it is increasingly recognized as a fast, effective, and cost-saving alternative to other treatment options. The primary course of treatment. I believe you already know that your coverage plan has recently been modified to reflect that trust in our procedure. If you wish to continue with your insurance provider, they expect your full cooperation, which I’m sure you can agree is in your best interests.”
Cooperation. A strange word for a lack of choice.
He thought of that word again as he was wheeled in for the procedure. As they brushed his arms with a slimy gel. As they sprayed his sticky self with nutrients. As they brought out the vial of spores. As they wrapped him in a strange tape, leaving him to wait in the darkness. To wait. And wait.
He wasn’t sure if he slept. He wasn’t sure how much time was passing. He wasn’t sure if the mushrooms were growing, and he was grateful that the darkness and tape meant he couldn’t see.
Cooperation. A strange word, indeed. What was that other word? Symbolic?
“Symbiotic,” it said with his voice, smiling with his lips.
∼ Miriam H. Harrison
© Copyright Miriam H. Harrison. All Rights Reserved.
