Cohabitation

“What do we want for lunch?” asked Marcel.

“Beans!” cried a chorus of high-pitched, slightly muffled voices from the vicinity of Marcel’s gut. “Beans beans beans!”

Marcel sighed. “I know you guys love those simple carbohydrates, but-“

Another voice cut him off. “Whatever you eat, make sure you lick your fingers.” It chuckled, a dry, throaty sound.

Marcel glared at his left ring finger. “You assholes are getting washed off. With antibacterial soap.”

The piping voices from his bowels went quiet. Marcel flushed. “I wouldn’t do that to you guys,” he said, wheedling. “You know that.”

The silence stretched awkwardly.