Rejected by the Host

Earlier this week, it had tried to attach to me. She was filming and had invited my coworker, but not me. It began whispering to me words of unease, words designed to steal past my defenses, words aimed at my weaknesses. “She picked her because she is popular. She is attractive. She is outgoing. She is better.” I fought back with words claiming my worth and my value, and noting that they did not depend upon being chosen or being included. Furthermore, she had every right to choose whomever she wanted to, for whatever reason. How did I know that she thought ill of me? Is this just another dingy film loop of high school running through my head? I cut the film. I did not take offense. I refused to feel injured. I refused to draw a conclusion on the basis of my feelings when I had no evidence that I was being injured. Less than thirty minutes later, the attempted takeover was a memory. I had been attacked by a foreign agent in an attempt at a hostile takeover. I did not need eyes to see the desiccated larvae at some distance from me. It had dried up into a lifeless husk, because it had been rejected by the host.

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