The lineman hung on the telephone pole, supported by a belt, and fiddled with some wires. Lately all the poles had these grubs on them and inevitably he’d have to smush some just to get the wiring right. Today was no exception. If anything there were even more grubs, mostly getting smushed or falling down to the sidewalk. That’s why he brought gloves. He’d had a few of these grubs get one his skin once and they ate little chunks out of the back of his hand.

He pulled a metal panel open and an ocean of squirming grubs poured out. “Oh, Jesus Christ,” he muttered, brushing them off his overalls. He swatted them vigorously but more and more came out of the box.

He pulled out a small flask and took a drink. But when he did so he inadvertently knocked a couple onto his face and they began burrowing. He flailed around, swatting and banging and the belt came loose and before he knew it he was lying in the pile of grubs down on the sidewalk, feeling like he’d been run over by a truck. A tiny sprite girl in a green skirt with tiny wings appeared in front of his face. “Hi, George,” she said, and giggled. He tried to move but several bones were broken and he was in extreme pain. The sprite began pulling the grubs out of his face, actually having to reach her little hands into the deep holes in his cheeks. She threw the grubs down on the sidewalk and stomped on them.

Her task was daunting- George was lying in a pile of the grubs and they were crawling everywhere. He struggled and struggled and was able to kind of halfway sit up. The sprite clapped her hands. He took a long swig from the flask, grubs crawling all over him, even in his hair.

Groaning, he got to his feet, using the telephone pole for support. Grubs had squirmed around and found his bare forearms and his ankles and were crunching away at a furious pace. The sprite flew around, trying to pick them off but there were far too many. George made it a few steps toward the truck before collapsing to one knee. At this point the sprite flew in front of his face and stared him in the eyes. He stared back, screaming now in pain, “AEEEIIIAARRGGGHH!!”

“Give me your soul,” she said. “I can at least save your soul.” “Wha–? Give you my soul? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard in my life!” George shouted back, his hand hanging where the wrist had been almost eaten through by grubs. “Jeeze–.”

George crawled on his elbows, his hands and feet falling off completely. “Your SOUL! Give it to me!” the sprite said. “Fuck you!” George roared, the grubs having eaten into his brain at this point.

The sprite stood there, hands on her hips, watching him disintegrate before her eyes. When half his skull toppled to the ground, she reached into his head and pulled out a light blue glowing orb. Then, as the hungry parasites finished off George’s earthly body, she turned and walked away with the glowing orb, bouncing it like a basketball down the sidewalk, all the while whistling the happiest of tunes.

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