dis "That's a heck of a nasty bruise," I say from beneath him, peering over his shoulder to see the mass. He explains;

Stray bits of cartilage, like blue-black tumors, are rising to the surface. They wish to work free of him entirely, and pass through his skin as a gorey eruption.

So is it with me, I now think, and I wait for someone to ask me. "That's a heck of a nasty bruise," they'll offer.

"It's my heart," I'll answer, "Surfacing. Soon it shall pass through my skin as a gorey eruption, and I will be free of it entirely."
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