I stroll through the aisles of my local grocery store, my head bopping along to the ominous music of a Latin choir blaring from my headphones as my sneakers scuff about the thin layer of squalor brought on by the nearly criminal negligence of the store's custodians. As I go, I peer at a number of nutrition labels and price tags, trying to figure out meals that I can afford without upsetting the very specific diet put forth by my doctor for life after my recent surgery. I've long abandoned the idea of finding anything that would actually taste edible, and I stroke the stitches along my abdomen ruefully as I realize this.

Having finally selected a decent pantry for the week, I make my way into the line. In front of me in line a perilously obese man sweats profusely, and I gaze at the large collection of sugar and meat in his cart. While on the surface I'm repulsed by his habits, I secretly find myself envying his culinary freedom. It's at this point that my music cuts out, the batteries depleted, and I hear an unsettling noise behind me.

It's a gurgling. A loud one at that, almost unearthly in its volume and its violence. It's as if the gods of gastro-intestinal distress wage war within some poor soul's bowels, trying to one up each other with gigantic waves of acid-saturated mucous and thunderous roars of methane. I look behind myself for the source, and I see a tiny, pasty man standing behind me in line, holding a cutlery set for purchase. He's stooped down, accenting his naturally short stature, and his mouth hangs slack, revealing rows of crooked, disgusting teeth. His hair is a washed-out, platinum blonde and each hair stands up on end stiffly as if they're unable to relax due to his loud gurgling. He wears round, rose-coloured sunglasses through which I can only barely see his eyes staring out stupidly. My first reaction at noticing this is to wonder if he may be mentally challenged. I smile politely and turn away.

It's my turn at the register now, and I make idle chitchat with the cashier as I get my money ready. All the while, the blonde man gurgles unpleasantly. Glancing quickly at his purchase, I wonder why he doesn't buy anything edible if he's so obviously hungry. Finally finishing up my buying, I button up my coat, grab my bags, and head outside.

The weather outside is miserable, more so than it was when I left. I regret having walked to the store as freezing cold rain sloshes down onto my face. As I walk, I can tell that something is very clearly wrong, though it takes me several moments to figure out what. My toes scream out in shock as I splash into a puddle I overlooked, and as I yank them out I realize what's unsettling me.

I can still hear the gurgling.

The sound is as cacophonous as it was when he stood directly behind me, and I realize that it would almost be a relief to find him standing there still, or to see him leap out at me from the shadows. Alas, as I look around in fear, I do not find this comforting terror. Lacking any better alternative, I try to shake this off as my imagination and trudge on home, ignoring the screaming intestinal distress ringing through my ears.

After several miserable, fearful minutes, I'm glad to arrive at my apartment building. I'm winded, not just from fear but also from exhaustion. Ever since my surgery, I've been fatigued and sickly. The walk home, once a brief hop out, has become an ordeal. The doctor said this might happen if my body didn't accept the transplant. Gritting my teeth, I turn the key to open the door.

The gurgling still hasn't left yet.

I take one last glance behind me, to make absolutely certain that the blonde man isn't standing on the doorstep, and I close the door shut, feeling a brief gust of cold wind as I do so. I lock the door behind me, and I start to head upstairs to my room.

The blonde man stairs back at me from the top of the stairs.

I start to let out a scream of terror, but he's upon me in moments. He moves faster than a man should, faster than sight, faster than reason. He calmly clamps a hand over my mouth, stifling my cries and pushing me up against a wall. It occurs to me that no one would hear me anyway; as the gurgling has now grown louder than anything my feeble vocal chords could muster.

I see a flash of steel and feel a burst of fright as I recognize a large carving knife from the cutlery set he purchased just 12 minutes ago. A look of mingled revulsion and hunger creeps upon his face as I see him stab himself in the stomach, slashing it wide open. Sickeningly blue, milky fluid billows out from the wound instead of blood, splattering all over the blonde man and myself. He looks away from the wound in disgust, before burying the knife deeply into my abdomen, ripping the stitching asunder. Feeling my blood drip out of the wound, I black out.

My eyes flutter open to dazzling sunlight, and I feel strangely pleasant. I shake my head as a bad dream from the previous night stabs at my memory. Deciding getting something to eat would do me some good, I get up out of my bed to head to the kitchen. I notice with some surprise that I feel better than I've felt in quite some time. My energy feels replenished, I feel I clean /I inside, as if my every ailment and ill has been cleared out of me. A bit frantically, I look down at my abdomen and I see that the stitching from my surgery has gone, with nothing but the faintest of scars to indicate anything was once there.

I'm too elated to question, and I head to the cupboard. I pull out a box of hostess snack cakes that I'd yet to throw out to be replaced by foods approved by my new diet. Happily, I cram twinky upon twinky into my mouth in celebration, relishing in the excess more than in the taste itself.

I'm close to tears at this point as the cream smears across my mouth and the spongy cake squirms down into my gullet. My celebration is cut short however, as I feel my stomach tremor violently and an indescribably powerful hunger overcome me. I look down to see my stomach shaking far more than I would think possible.

And I hear a gurgling.