What is That Thing on Your Neck?

I wrote some flash fiction. I'm not sure why; it's not really my thing. However, I thought I might as well post it here, since I'm no longer working on my main fic.


…and so, in conclusion, I'd just like to say that – what's that, sorry?

Sigh.

I get that question all the time, you know. On the train, at work, in cinemas and theatres. I even got asked that on my honeymoon. It bugs me so much. One time, I came close to hitting someone because of it – but it wasn't his fault, so I had to stop. I mean, it's hard for people not to ask that question, isn't it? Even if they don't ask it, I can see it in their eyes. No one ever quite looks at my face, you know. Always a bit lower, and to the left.

And I can see the question forming in their minds, just before they open their mouths and it comes out again:

"What is that thing on your neck?"

I sigh. I put my hand on the thing on my neck, just like I'm doing now.

"It is not an alien brain slug," I tell them. "Look, here is a thing that is not an alien brain slug for you."

Now we can agree that the thing on my neck is not an alien brain slug, just as the thing on your neck is not an alien brain slug.

And so yeah. It really bugs me, but hey. They can't help asking, so I just give them the best reply I can.

What reply is that?

Oh, that doesn't matter. You'll figure it out for yourself, in a minute. When you walk outside, and your taxi driver asks you:

"What is that thing on your neck?"