The Itch…
With despicable distain I tore at my face, each tendril of my being agitated by the tips of my hair like a thousand spiders or more crawling across my face, no matter how much scrubbing I did the feeling would not go away. The more I cleaned the more sensitive I became, my skin growing red from the aggravated abuse of my own two hands, thusly turning them even more sensitive and even more prone to the thin prickles that so drove me insane with hatred.
The agitation crept slowly but surely down my head onto my neck and shoulders, each pimple aroused by the feeling of dread, the crawling sensation drove on like some invisible force across my body tearing away at my sanity. I continue to scratch at my follicles with one hand while with the other I chase the lead of this disturbance down my body.
Ribbons of red and white appear all the way down where I have clawed and scathed my body trying to capture this impossibility. I am covered in something; it won't let me be… I scour my body with etched scrubbers, tearing away at the lairs that are there to protect me until all that is left is bloodied marks of raw flesh…
The blood pours across my wounds as my body begins it healing process, trickling down as the wounds overfill with to much crimson. My two hands too occupied with hunting for an end to this attack I leave my body to bleed. The blood seeping over miniscule hairs agitating even more of my self as I tear even more at my skin trying to stop it. My hands garnished in a dark red hue continue their quest, painting my skin as they go. With out warning or dilapidated actions the agitation was lost; it fell away like an autumn leaf bereft with hope no more.
My hands drew away from my body as the sensation ran over my body invigorating me to contentment; I drew a breath of relief as it continued its peaceful slumber.
I drew myself up and looked to the mirror beside me; I looked in shock if not horror at my reflection. It was not I that stood before my gaze. I had turned into some creature from a macabre tale… the reason for my peace; the reason for my tranquillity is that I had been drowned in my own blood. The soothing song of the passing breeze was that of cold air upon my torn skin that hung off my body in countless places… the blood still seeping from my wounds, I stared at the mirror one more time before there was nothing left of me to stay focused.
The blood that seeped out of me made a comforting cushion for my body as I collapsed from the weakness, there until my body fell silent and motionless…