My story Blur falls into the category of “I really like this story that I wrote”*. Perhaps you might like it as well. It has moths, corporate nastiness, self-help, redemption, recovery, a lot of weirdness, bowel motions, and more moths. If you did not read it in the cooly-named anthology ProleSCARYet, perhaps you would like to read it in the very recent and also very cooly-named anthology, The Kafka Protocol & the Burden of Compliance (now with less fuck words!)

…

A late surge shocked him back to the present. Lucky I waited. No vague meandering of continental drift this time, but a spectacular eruption, quickly over. Caleb panted, lightheaded, red faced from the effort. Lucky the external door had not been opened at that moment.

Time to go. Don’t, but he did. He always did. Curiosity. Checking for symptoms. As he reached to depress the button to flush, he looked.

The toilet was full of soft, fluttering grey moths.

Caleb stared. Gently pulsing, a living fur rug reaching up the side of the bowl.

He would have been less shocked by a litre of blood.

The paper he had dropped was already being drawn down beneath the carpet of them, shifted by their incessant shuffling.

Caleb flushed, then ran. There was no way he was going to be blamed for this.

………………

*Or to quote Stepehn King, “Hey, I’m fucking Shakespeare!”