SLOW DIGESTION

He weighed the ring in his palm, placed it in his mouth, washed it down with the rest of the mezcal.

The worm was still inside the bottle, gazing at him from behind the glass.

Only it didn’t look like a moth larva.

It looked like her.

A version of her. With tiny wings. Still wet.

He tried to let it out. To make her fly away.

Frantically.

He broke the bottle.

But she was already dead.

He searched among the jagged shards. Found nothing. Not even the worm.

Maybe it had never been there. She.

The ring was stuck somewhere down his gut.

It hurt.

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©2026 CE