The Itch of Three Days
“It just won’t stop, my skin seems to mock me, as I try to relieve this infernal sensation. I scratched off the first layer, only to have the torture renewed on the next. The pain of my nails digging into the flesh is minuscule compared to the itch.”
–August 1st
On a hot August day, Larry McDonald left his highrise office at Globetech, to head home.
Larry had planned on evening of relaxing in front of his television, but the true events to follow were far from what he had planed.
“I’ve tried everything, rubbing alcohol only burns, but any kind of distraction is satisfying, and will continue until the bottle is gone.”
–August 1st
Larry wanted to walk home, as he did to work. His home was not far from the office, and as he walked he wondered why he didn’t exercise more.
“This is the second day with the itch; I’ve decided to take a bath to combat it. As soon as I entered the water, it turned a red hue, and the stinging returned when the water touched my arms, scratched raw.”
-August 2nd
As Larry neared home, the sun started to set, and he could see the outline of a man approaching him in the distance.
The man walked with a limp and seemed to be wearing an overcoat of some sort. As he neared, his features came into view and so did his sickness.
The man lifted his head to look at Larry; vomit dribbled down his chin, and his skin was a blood red color. “Help…” he groaned. When he did the skin around his mouth cracked and peeled revealing the raw, tender layer beneath.
“I looked in the mirror for the first time since I got home; my flesh looks as if it was melting off my bones. The itch is still here of course, just less and has given way to a burning.”
–August 2nd
“Look, there is a hospital not far from here,” Larry tried to convince the man.
“I can’t, I need help now,” the sick man argued, then his mouth opened wide and he started to tremble, as if the weight of his own body was too much for his legs to support.
“Hey, just lie down and I’ll call for help, ok?” The man did not; he continued to stand and tremble.
“Just lie down,” Larry said as he put his hand on the sick man’s shoulder; his body was hot, his blood was boiling in his veins. “What’s wrong with you?”
Larry’s answer was found in a burst of fluid that streamed from the man’s mouth. The bile landed on Larry’s face, some in between his parted lips.
“The itch has moved. It’s coming from the inside, a place I cannot scratch. I poured the last of the rubbing alcohol down my throat.”
–August 3rd
“Get the fuck away from me!” Larry yelled. He knocked over the sick man with his briefcase and ran home.
“The torture continues, I managed to find my way around the house, and I also found the only scratch for my itch, a loaded 45.”
–Aug…
When Larry got home he immediately took a shower, but soon after his skin began to itch.
