Literature  ·  Poetry  ·  Essays


Vol. VI · September 2026

parasite by Bogdan Dragos

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“It’s completely harmless,” she says

as she shows me a

five legged frog that struggles

and fails

to get free from her dirty

hands. “The extra limbs

are the result of

a parasite infection.”

“Is this your new pet?”

I ask

She shakes her head. “Not really. It’ll just

leave as soon as I let go

of it. If I let go.”

“Damn. How about letting go

now?”

“Does it freak you out?”

“Yeah. It’s a five legged

frog. Why and how the hell did it grow

an extra leg in the back like that?”

She turns the poor frog

in her hands like it’s a

card about to be shuffled

in a deck. “The parasite

causes mutations. It causes extra

limbs to grow, but they don’t help

the frog. Hell, they hinder it. Make it

move slower, clumsier.”

“Why though?”

“Why? So that big birds can catch

it easier and swallow it.

The parasite’s aim it not

to reach the frog, but the bird.”

“Damn, what does it do

once inside the bird?”

“Once inside the bird, it’s over.

It’s the parasite’s version

of heaven.”

“You seem to know a lot

about parasites,” I say

“And heaven,” she adds. “And something

tells me you’d rather

hear about the latter than

the former, correct?”

“Nah, I wanna listen to all

of it. Everything. Spare no

details.”

“Hahah! I knew you’re a

parasite too.”

“Am I?”

“Of course. Not the type that makes

the host grow extra legs,

but the type that makes the host

grow extra tongues.

You know how to make people

open up

and share more than they would

normally.”

“In other words, I know how

to listen?”

“Nah. It’s not that simple.

You don’t listen like a therapist.

But like a thief. You’re going to

use all the info

in one of your silly writings, aren’t you?”

“Damn,” I say, raising a hand. “You

got me. Most of my victims

don’t. But you did.”

She throws her head back

with laughter

and

since she doesn’t stop

in four seconds

I join her

Yeah, I’m a parasite, alright.

I take people’s stories

and blow them out of proportion for

my own entertainment

I turn them into

twisted little stories

of my own

Because…

I don’t know

Perhaps I too

am haunted by a parasite

who pushes me towards

such behaviors

I wonder where it’s

trying to arrive to

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