They  crawl.

Crawling under the fleshy walls of the skin.

I can see how they are desperate to get out, their sharp legs clawing at the flesh.

I hear the biting of the centipedes, the buzzing of the flies, and the groan of the man I have tied to the table.

His tiered eyes pleading with me. Begging me to take them out.

But why?

Does he not realize the glory he is experiencing? To be comforted by these creatures made by our Lord.

I wonder where in his body the dragonflies have gone to?

I wonder when the eggs will hatch. Those I have sown into his skin.

I wonder how the moths and crickets in his taped up mouth are acting.

I wonder what part of his brain the worms have dug themselves into.

Oh, how wonderful it is. To see nature take its effect. A living echo system.

I wonder what his name was?

Maybe it was Robert. Or maybe it was Steven.

It really doesn't matter.

Soil doesn't need to have a name.

Thump I hear. As one of the many variations of beetle jump around in his tummy.

Was it a Goliath beetle? Maybe a Hercules beetle? Maybe it was the tortoise beetle?

I see some ants walk into his nose, and I see caterpillars dig themselves into his ears. readying themselves for the first steps in their glorious metamorphosis.

Then the first one emerges, a small Hymenopus coronatus, an orchid mantis. It's array of beautiful colors are enough to dampen the man's muffled scream.

This would surely cause the moths and crickets to wonder down his throat.

I'm sure he is cursing me. Believing me to be evil. But a shepherd must guide his sheep to a better life. Such I shall be my Lord's shepherd to guide this lamb to his glorious purpose.

Then I hear it. The faint whistle of a song so Devine it caused my skin to shiver.

"Our Lord has cometh." I whispered to the man, his eyes growing more panicked.

In through the now open basement door walks a figure. Tall and cloaked with a leather trench coat and an old black hat.

I fall down to my knees, not worthy to witness our Lord.

The man falls tears as it reaches him.

Tears of astonishment, no doubt.

It looks upon my work like it has done with the many others.

It hovers over what once was a man, who now is a perfectly living breathing insect farm. As its tattooed arm sweeps over the man, it then turns to me.

I look upon it. Its features always hidden under its old hat.

Then it whistles.

It whistles its wondrous gospel, and I pray. Blessed to hear it's melody.

It reaches out its hand to me. Holding something.

Its hand slowly opens to reveal a large and strange larva. My larva.

I gasped.

I took it, holding it close to my chest as the figure left, again starting to whistle its song.

As the larva in my hand looks upon me, I lift it closer to my face, letting it enter me. It crawls down my throat. Slowly making its way forward. I look around myself as I see the insects crawling towards me. I except them. Letting them walk on me. Through me. Rendering myself to them. Becoming their nature. Their soil.