by Joules Craft:(author bio link here):  https://joulescraft.com/call-attendant-contact/

Chapter 1: Tribute to the Stomach Bug

Once upon a time, between 2019 and 2020 lived an itsy bitsy bug, a rather tiny microbe.
Twas so small, sneaky, and twice as clever than any germaphobe.

This bug’s first name was “Stomach,” yet children called him “Tummy Bug.”
Tummy the bug, eventually bugged all, like a tracking device, being more minute than a crumb with the power of a crumby thug.

As a transient gypsy moving quite often, he mostly lived on food, so he could eat.
His favorite apartments were spoiled food, undercooked meat, and even the dirt under one’s feet.

One sordid day at a restaurant, the shelf life of his home reached its expiration date.
Averting to live in the trash again, he enticed a server to eat him to avoid such a fate.

Upon being eaten, he climbed from the back of the waiter’s throat, through nostrils, and into his eyes.
Now he could see where to find his next home, his next prey, without it being a surprise.

Along came a family into the restaurant, and lo and behold it was love at first sight.
He fell madly in love with a beautiful woman, as she glowed like a beam of bright light.

Just then, he easily tickled the waiter’s nose and made him sneeze on her order of food.
She took the first bite as he danced into her mouth with springy steps like a trespassing dude.

He swirled into her stomach, splashing into the hot tub of his new luxury villa mobile home.
Now he could celebrate being united with his love, at last, with no more need to roam.

From inside her he shouted, “I love you! I love you!” attempting to be the butterfly in her stomach, yet she could not hear him.
He paddled on her floating food and kicked up some bubbles during his sloppy swervy swim.

Tummy bug grew depressed, since his love, so unrequited, made him cry.
“Why oh why?” he wailed as his loneliness summoned rivers of tears and a whelp of a sigh.

His anger brewed up a boiling cauldron, as his hostess grew uneasy, quite queasy, and sick.
So, she lay down to rest as his sobs filled her, as he planned his retreat, and it had to be quick.

He woke her from slumber, pushed her feet to the toilet, so waterfalls of spew could eject him.
But he had second thoughts, since his love was so deep, yet his bitterness made his grin turn grim.

Since she didn’t love him, he liquified her bowels and fled down with every flush hour upon hour.
Since he couldn’t get the love he wanted, living inside her was his only power.

His love was so intense that his urge to breed could not be contained.
He multiplied his own family, freed himself via fumes into her family leaving them all drained.

So if you ever encounter a bug that wants to set up shop in your stomach, as if it wants to be your mate,
just know that it’s his tears of sorrow that you leak and squeeze out toward his sewage destiny tale of twisted fate.

Chapter 2: The Purpose

Flush, flush, flush, in a flash our lovestruck viral villain rejoins his brothers in the cesspools of a reunion cruise.
The conference allows them to devise plans to become stars of hot topics for writers of news.

After flushed down into oblivion, the virus has a chance to mutate and evolve ever stronger when isolated and curbed into flattened curve places.
Anaerobic, with no need for oxygen to even breath, his population has the advantage of no competition to increase overall cases.

Isolated pockets of hosts in perpetual quarantine become sitting ducks more susceptible to infection similar to native populations facing waves of pilgrims pillaging their land.
Finding fresh untouched soil to claim as their territory, they take over as they seek to dip their toes in someone else’s sand.

In bursts like a release of pollen and spores, each replicating virus rises into the air via waves of emitted stench.
Each one capable of grasping tight hold of each victim, like a tool, like a wrench.

With a mission to spread, they seek a ride with someone to spread wings to fly them away.
So, they choose to hitch rides with birds to cover more distance, such as some vulnerable sitting duck of the day.

Some viruses want to ensure their own survival of progeny, hence want hosts to live to serve as their masters of transmission.
Other viruses have an incentive to allow their host to die in order for a detrivore to become their next host as a mission.

So, our one lovestruck tummy bug seeks to find that same unrequited love that rejected him and ejected him, this time he wants her baby to no avail.
Like a stalker, he obsessively seeks out her secret nest, to invade his target, to try to succeed and not fail.

It’s her baby he now craves to capture and subject to the barbaric ritual of an innocent virgin serving for sacrifice.
He hitches a ride with that same sitting duck to get to the top of the volcano to appease the gods with the roll of the dice.

The most innocent, most vulnerable victims of his choice,  are that same glowing mother and her child.
This time, not playing the gentleman, having no intentions for symptoms to be gentle or mild.

The viral purpose serves to decrease human overpopulation, to flatten the curve of their exponential growth that decimates other species.
As a predator, its mechanism of achievement involves infecting the bowels resulting in contagious feces.

Facing the face of an innocent baby on this bursting volcano of viral eruption,
our viral villain intends to survive without interference, without interruption.

Chapter 3: The Sacrifice

Baby boy, always on his mind, got sick after midnight, leaving the mother with no rest.
The boy found the feather of the duck he flew in on, or emitted from his feather pillow, waking all with screams of horror to meet this unwelcome guest.

Baby boy threw up his dinner, yet he held tight to the feather, to cope and for some hope that the feeling would be fleeting and flee fast.
Hoping the future could hold stronger answers than the weakness of the past.

Meeting this virus face to face as it flew out of the mouth part of his face, he held the feather like a sword to resist the standoff in battle.
Baby boy’s body shook like his very own baby rattle.

Feathers flew out from other pillows, soiled and saturated, his mother had to strip off the covers with a swift rip. 
Feathers also flew from the down comforter that was supposed to let him sleep, yet instead made his mother lose her grip.

Before sunrise, no one nearby cannot hear babies cries, while he grasps his feather like a reason not to sleep yet.
He held his feather throughout washing his hair after laying his head on the soiled thrown up pillow like a debt.

The feather resisted release to be freed from his hand.
The feather weathered the tarnish of the soiling spew ejected to land.

This type of virus is too strong to even get to a hospital to test statistical validation of infection, so as a killer, it stays silent.
This type of virus barely allows one to crawl to a bathroom, pushing one down floor bound, while so very violent.

He still holds the feather as if it can help him fly away from the expulsion that resists anyone getting rest.
With a flick of a wrist, wrestled out of hand, the out of hand tummy bug can finally give it a rest, so we can rest for the best.

The sun doesn’t rise, the son of the mother cries tolerating this swirling shit show storm that swallows joy in the toilet’s spin twirl.
Stress relief alone to try to have social fun opens the oyster of this hurling virus as a price to pay for it as if it was a shimmering pearl.

Is it worth the price to pay to have rights to live for any potential fleeting pleasure?
Or quit and shutdown everything beyond more expensive consumerism required to survive alone and not be swallowed as the stomach bugs buried treasure.

Forget sleep for rest, the sun starts to rise.
Forget play and smiles of joy, just pry open bloodshot eyes to no surprise.

All work and no play, start the laundry now, and get ready for the ship to capsize.
You still have a choice beyond the restrictions of fear, to keep the band playing as the Titanic sinks, so keep singing along with the inevitable sighs.

The size of the matter weighs with greater gravity than we have the power to think we can control the grim reaper.
The volcanic mountains that we climb will still explode and swallow us as we climb ever steeper.

This stomach virus that indiscriminately overpowers entire populations is only one in a million of yet undiscovered invisible microscopic elements of microbiology.
Just realise that increasing spraying of any herbicide, pesticide, or virus killers will only result in a more resistant powerful strain if you study the patterns of ecology.

Chapter 4: Consequences

No matter what we do, this dancing bug aims to tire us, and retire us.
His cousin already has more control over us, like a king that wears a crown aka “corona” the royal virus.

Twas so sudden and too late to avert incubation, that often lacks symptoms making victims unaware.
The inseparable bond between mother and child, a mere bridge for this invisible predator that they were forced to share.

Twas too late for impossible prevention, when sharing essential hugs and kisses to support each other’s delicate lives.
Isolation from all, after all can only lead to greater forms of stressful demise.

Shutting down education replaced with remote media, all personalized and commercialised,
increased panic buying to replace lost libraries, and all severed social ties.

Lost jobs along with abilities to pay for food and homes with businesses boarded up… poof… gone, like magic.
Poverty boosted alcohol sales and likely domestic violence in broken homes hoarding pistols for families with no breaks from each other growing suicidal and tragic.

Even using masks as shields and closing public bathrooms became a false facade of hope, yet really just more lies in disguise.
Such precautions allowed no recognition of masked criminals and even prevented access to public water to increase dehydrated cries.

Fogged up glasses of blurry vision led to blindness, while the choking hazard muzzles halted ability to breath without overheating.
Restrictions of living to prevent dying became the fate that everyone was meeting.

In exasperation, desperation to simply reach a bathroom and water, added panic to the mess.
The tradeoffs had equivalent consequences as each solution created new problems to confess.

Every action has an equal and opposite reaction, as Newton’s 3rd Law postulates.
Entire social isolation prevents essential times of elation without in person relation, and the level of stress it exacerbates.

The sun simply sets on the abandoned dying that can neither say goodbye to family, nor play bingo, or allow a gathering procession for funeral.
The deaf can no longer read lips, the fear taking over everyones every thought over all.

It’s not socially acceptable to be social while in solitary confinement, nor carpool, nor band together for support to stop discriminatory laws outcasting everyone who resists the straight jackets of restraint.
Instead of collective strength, the fragmentation creates more vulnerable sitting ducks masked with red paint.

Even if we wear masks, never eat food made by others, nor interact again, just die while hiding in fear forever,
isolated pockets of other viruses and bacteria that we are not allowed to catch nor gain resistance from will evolve and mutate like new hatchets for our future heads to be severed.

Even if we never dance again, share a microphone to sing, nor reveal a face to smell a flower never, ever, ever.
We collectively try to fly without wings via holding only one feather.