The Maggot

James felt suffocated by the burlap bag over his head.
When he fell to the floor; you could hear that it hurt, but it didn't stop him from getting up as quickly as he possibly could.
Struggling to understand the chaos around him, he panicked out of his restraints and ripped the bag from his head.
like being stuck at the bottom of the unforgiving ocean, the room was completely dark, the pressure was deafening  but the silence held unending terror.
A red light began to shine outside of the window to the left of him and it brough a clear, harsh contrast to the pure black room.
It's a small space with absolutely no furniture, cheap carpet, and pealing paint.
The Maggot
sits in the middle of it all, writhing at the center of the room, a considerably large idol of Decay. It squirms and moves like the uneven surface of water, calling James to look directly at it. A voice speaks from all corners, with precise inflections and pronunciations, like a respected man would speak to his superiors.

"James, To finally be with you in the flesh. I've been meaning to thank you personally for your work, I hope you enjoy your compensation.

Though there is something we must discuss."

James awoke with heavy breathing, and his back soaked in sweat. He sat up on his bed and looked at the cheap digital clock he had on the nightstand. The clock read 4:01 A.M in faint green glowing numbers. James checked the clock to made sure the alarm is still set for 7:00 A.M , and that the volume is still as high as it could go. He stood up from the bed and walked a few steps over to a small setting desk placed between his bed and the door out of the room. He turned on a small desk lamp that lit up the room up slightly. There was an open envelope next to a mug with some water in it. he look for a couple moments at the envelope addressed to him resting on the desk.
 "From The Maggot"
His eyelids fell,  and his throat felt tight as his face went to an unnoticed frown, he took a piece of paper out of the envelope, followed by a small round plastic container, the foil peeled back and the inside empty. He stares at the piece of paper, It contains a name, an age and a picture. He set the piece of paper down and picked up the mug to head to the kitchen.

The kitchen has a small counter, with a few cabinets, and a window above it, a door to the bathroom, and a door that leads outside. There's a street light outside the kitchen window that shines through, usually lighting up the inside of the kitchen with a dull gray glow enough to vaguely make out where everything is. James brought his mug over to the sink and filled it with a bit more before he drank it all quickly, and when he pulled it away from his mouth, he looked at the mug with a distant gaze, lost for a moment. James noticed that the light from outside was slowly becoming dim, and he let out a deep breath. The walls began to quake violently, and the light from outside grew into a deep red color. The familiar voice of The Maggot echoed and cascaded down from every corner of the kitchen.

"James, does it seem to late? I don't want someone who's been so loyal to be tired on the job, perhaps you should go back to sleep."

The rain writhing on the crimson window casted grotesque shadows across the room. The fear in James' eyes was only magnified by the tears endlessly streaming down his face.
He ran back to his room, and it ran with him. he saw the lamp on his desk was that same red hue that seeps into the core of his soul, and claws at the surface of his retinas. he walked in front of the desk, a mound of open wallets spilled over it. His eyes scanned over them, recognizing each and every one, he fell back onto the floor. His clothes were clinging to his damp body, as sweat dripped down his forehead, mixing with his tears, and then without warning the light flickers back to its normal yellowish color. the desk completely clear. James picked himself up off the floor,  and let out a breath he'd been holding in for an eternity, gasping like a man who's been drowning for months.

James' desk lamp then soon went out, and a dim red light appeared beside his bed. The Alarm clock on his nightstand read 6:40 A.M. the color clamoring to every surface it can infect. Loud radio static came on and sounded as if it's tuning itself before a man's voice could hardly be heard on it.

"You're James, right?
Oh sure...I'll have a Jack and Coke, listen
 Our boss told us that you were hurting for some cash,
 so he'd like to help."

 The sound of static ravaged through the radio for a moment before the voice came back.

"Just make sure to put one of these pills in their drink when they order...
Oh and be sure to check their ID so you know you have the right person.
 After that, your work is done, and we'll handle the rest.
 Then you'll get your money
 ...you have a good day." 

James rushed over to the radio, clasping it with bloodied hands. He threw it to the ground as hard as he could, desperate to end his torture. The radio broke into pieces and shut off.
He quickly sat down on his bed, breathing heavy and fast, he presses his hands against his face and began to weep deeply.

The red light from the alarm clock cursed the tears that dripped from between his fingers, and the small strands of spit and mucus reached for the floor from his open, heaving mouth. He audibly whaled, and his lips quivered. It took a few moments for James to collect himself. He moved his hands away from his face and tried to take slow even breaths, but as he began, he felt the subtle crawling down his back. reached his hand around and lightly touched the area with hesitation, he felt something that was cold and wriggled under the pressure of his finger. He frantically started reaching and grabbing at his back in a panic. He ripped off his shirt and his eyes widened as he searched his body, regrets falling to the floor like rain. He brought his hands quickly up to his face, covering his mouth tightly as he sprinted out of bed, across the kitchen and into the bathroom.

James busted through the door and turned on the White flickering  bathroom lights. he quickly stumbled to the sink. he put his bloody hands on corners and gagged. His eyes darted up to the mirror as he twisted his body to see his back, he tries to focus as hard as he can, he thinks
 "if there's anything on me!"
before an urge over came him, and he leaned back over the sink to gag yet again, trying to calm himself by breathing slowly unsuccessfully, he starts wiping the sweat from his forehead, the blood from his hands panting a picture. He looks himself in the eyes and coughs, he takes another few short breaths and then dry heaves again and again, eventually feeling something, he throws up into the sink. looking back up into the mirror with this respite. He feels something still in his mouth, but as he looks down the bowl to spit it out, he sees the perfect porcelain stained and full. The maggot was there in the middle of it all, surrounded by a red sea of his children, like hands reaching out to James. His legs buckle, and he slips hitting his head on the corner of the sink.
his body succumbing to the physical trauma, and the blood leaking down his forehead, past his eyes, like tears.