500 words, that's all you gave me. 500 words to explain. To, if even possible, apologise. But how can you apologise for doing what you must? Are soldiers murderers because they kill, or saviours because of the mother and child they saved?

I'd ask my mother, but she's dead. Cancer, but not that alone. It was them. Me.

I was one of the few who didn't believe their promises. Humans weren't worth saving, yet they told us they would. To live is to make mistakes, they said. So we invited them in, like vampires at the door. Mistake.

You, inside me right now, know this. Everyone has one, apart from us few escapees, and our numbers dwindle. Taking my mother was smart. That's how to get to us. Discover and exploit our weaknesses. If asked, I'd have said I had nothing left worth losing but, not having spoken to her since the day after the Arrival, I wouldn't have thought about Mum.

They did think about her. They don't understand the concept of family. To them, individual pockets of life are inefficient. Wrong. But they, you, are The Multitude. You belong. We're cast adrift while you're one.

Whatever. We can feel love. No, we can feel. Another inefficiency. Don't feel, just be.

500 words. I forgot. I can feel my memory becoming fuzzy. A net curtain falling on the world. You said you'd give me time and here am I wasting it. You want me to apologise to you, though, and I need to work up to that.

Mum's call, asking to see me 'just one last time', was unexpected. Being in her head, you knew what would bring me running, and I did. Then I saw her eyes. I knew you were in there. The slight change in colour from the deep brown she'd always had. That's one thing you can't change. I can tell you that because I know you can't change it. So tough.

When she said she had cancer, I was broken. You thought you'd get me with another one of your kind. Another symbiote. Being human, feeling, we can do things you don't expect. Like the cushion to her face. Like taking her to the edge of the abyss.

Like forcing you out. Taking you in. To save her.

Her death was probably a combination. The pillow, yes, but better that than numb from being invaded by you. The cancer. And, I suspect, the loss of you. I thought I could resist you. Another mistake.

I can feel I'm... dulling. My emotions, superfluous to you, are fading, or being consumed. I had 500 words, which I thought a kindness, but it was a diversion.

So, I am sorry. For The Multitude and the way you need us to stop yourselves feeling life's chaotic emotions. I'm sorry you don't appreciate its beauty.

Now, I welcome you, because you don't deserve life or love. Only emptiness.

Before I'm lost to you completely, though, this gun is loaded.