A very short story about a fungus

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

My name was Eugene. I was born on the shores of a small lake in what is now known as Michigan; no, not a large lake. As the spores attacked my brain I had no idea what was coming, and the others in my village believed that I was a genius, a shaman. To me they brought their wounded and sick, their congenitally deformed. My name was Eugene and I had no special powers, only a fungus that had entered my brain one day in late childhood and lain there dormant for nearly a decade before consuming my intellect. As I infected their loved ones with my disease, which showed up most often as a simple ringworm, I called out in the voice of the loons which nested in the cliffs at the north end of the lake, and the villagers were convinced of my holy status. To me they brought their infants, their women in childbirth, their retarded children. As I lost my ability to speak a human language and the mushroom in my braincase impinged upon my optic nerves, I wished I could still cry out stop, stop, stop; save your people while you can.

My name was Eugene.

[B_M_W]

I like this.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Thank you! I have no memory of writing it, or of why I might have written it, which is one of the delights of having an electrical problem.

[Jenne]

It is pretty good--concise and yet very emotional in its own way.