Hang Nail

I'm not quite sure how they found out, but they did.

At first I hardly noticed it. A snag here, a poke there, but nothing that would really tip me off. Let me in on their plan.

I mean, it's crazy right? They aren't sentient. They don't have eyes or ears, or even a mind.

Right?

I guess I shouldn't have read that article.

You know, the one in the New Yorker about the science of death. It talked about the 21 gram loss and the rate of decomposition. It explained the bacteria at work and the gasses released. But most of all, it mentioned the growth. It talked about how the hair and fingernails continue to grow after death. I always thought that hair and nail was just dead skin cells. Every school kid knows that, has tried to gross out their fellow playmate with tales of decay. Now I know better.

It must of been when I brushed that hair off the page. The vibrations of the ink against my finger tips. My nails felt it. They read that article like brail!

They know.

They know they no longer need me. It's only a mater of time.

At first I thought I was just careless. My fingers would snag on a shirt or on my seatbelt as I pulled it across my chest. But it escalated. They became razor sharp. The simple act of brushing my teeth or shaving became a surgical procedure. The slightest bit of carelessness and I would slit my own throat.

I know what you're thinking. Why don't you just trim them? Oh, trim I did. But the next morning they would be back. With the speed of bamboo. Like a bonsai, clipping them only promoted their growth.

And now I look like a comic book freak. fingers tipped with razor edged weapons. It's only a mater of time before I slip up, become careless.

Then it'll just be them.

They never needed me anyway.