This is a reprint of my drabble that appeared in Boston Literary Magazine. You’ll also find it in Suppose: Drabbles, Flash Fiction, and Short Stories.

Our protagonist is warm. He is nourished. Then why does he feel the compulsion to leave?

—

An eternity of drifting. Floating. Disorientation.

Where am I? How long have I been in this strange place?

Muffled sounds filled his universe. Laughing voices. Beeps. Whirrs.

He was attached. He was warm. He was nourished.

Then why did he feel the compulsion to leave?

He stretched. He pushed. He strained.

But he was trapped.

Not yet. Conserve your strength.

He slept.

Pressure. Panic. Pain.

Now is the time.

His heart raced. He clawed his way through the ribcage of his host. The cold air assaulted his lungs. He screamed.

A salivating xenomorph comforted him, hissed in his ear.

Mama.

—

You’ll find more short fiction like this in Suppose: Drabbles, Flash Fiction, and Short Stories.