Tennantsayswhat
07-07-2014, 03:54 AM
It started with a small patch on my leg. It was a Friday, I think, or maybe a Thursday night.
It was just so itchy. I didn’t think much of it at first, it was just a spot on my leg that itched, just above my ankle. I figured I had sat on the wrong kind of plant or something. No big deal. It would go away soon enough.
Pretty soon it was my entire shin, then my upper leg. After that, my other leg started to itch. I tried not to scratch. I really did. But I just couldn’t do it. When my arms started itching too, I went to see a doctor. He wasn’t sure what it was, but gave me some antihistamines (allergy medication) and told me to try not to scratch.
I lay in bed that night trying to distract myself with anything, but I could feel it. Them. The little things crawling over me, picking at my skin. I couldn’t take it. I scratched. Just a little at first, but that seemed to make them angry. They picked more and more and I had to scratch harder and harder.
I guess I must’ve fallen asleep at some point because I woke up far too early the next day. I went to rub the sleep out of my eyes, but my hand felt wet. I slowly focused on my fingernails to see that there was blood crusted underneath them. The rest of my hand was pretty much covered in blood. I threw the sheets aside to find both my legs bleeding.
I had scratched skin of in patches. The skinless patches hurt like hell, but they weren’t itchy anymore. After days of torment, it was a type of small relief. I was pretty scared that I could do that to myself, so I resolved to quit scratching cold turkey.
I made it through half an hour. It felt like a swarm of tiny insects was crawling over me. Slowly, I felt like they were crawling over my entire body. Even the skinless patches on my legs were starting to itch again. At the two hour mark, only my face was untouched by nail marks. The rest of my body was right from the constant scratching.
I phoned my doctor again to make an emergency appointment, but he was closed for the long weekend. I didn’t think it warranted a visit to the emergency room, so I tried to scratch as least as I could. The itch became unbearable though. The next day, I started seeing them. The little creatures that swarmed over me, that bit and picked and transferred to everything I touched. My friend came over to visit that night, but I wouldn’t let him into the apartment. What if they got onto him?
Slowly, I scratched off more and more skin. My nails were ripped and bloody, I could see the muscles in my arms and legs. I’m not entirely sure how I stayed alive. I stopped registering days and nights. Everything blended into one solid hell. Sleeping was no longer an option. I could see them in my food, so I stopped eating. If one of them got inside me, started picking at my innards….No. I wouldn’t survive that.
Monday came and went. Probably. It felt like I hadn’t slept in years, but that’s not possible. It can’t be. At least, I don’t think it was that long. Maybe it was only a couple days. I don’t know.
I didn’t own a gun, or have anything that could act as a poison, but I knew I couldn’t live like this anymore. The constant itching was unbearable, the blood from my legs and arms was attracting more bugs. I think they were in my head. I could hear them when I tried to sleep at night.
I had a glass in my hand. I could see the bugs inside. Maybe they would’t make my insides itch. Maybe they’d just eat them and it wouldn’t hurt.
*************
I was wrong. I could feel them. Crawling. Scratching. I started scratching my stomach. More and more and I couldn’t stop. I ripped through the skin and keep going. The pain was intolerable, but I couldn’t seem to stop. I could feel the life slowly going out of me, as I watched the pool of blood get bigger and darker. Then they came. I’d been screaming, I guess, and one of the neighbours called the cops. I tried to warn them about the bugs. I tried telling them not to come in. They got me to a hospital and handcuffed me to the bed. I must have sounded insane to them, but some of the bugs came with me. I saw them crawling on people. I’m not entirely sure on the passage of time, but I eventually got transferred to an asylum.
They let me out a couple years later, when they were sure they convinced me there was no bugs. I went back to my old apartment and stood outside the door. I must’ve been there for over an hour before I took a deep breath and opened the door. I have no idea how they survived all those years, but they did. There was a swarm of bugs just waiting inside the door.
They asked me later why I tried to burn the apartment building down. Why I killed that little girl. It was better. I’m not proud of what I did, but better she die quickly than to live long enough to scratch all the skin off her body.
It was just so itchy. I didn’t think much of it at first, it was just a spot on my leg that itched, just above my ankle. I figured I had sat on the wrong kind of plant or something. No big deal. It would go away soon enough.
Pretty soon it was my entire shin, then my upper leg. After that, my other leg started to itch. I tried not to scratch. I really did. But I just couldn’t do it. When my arms started itching too, I went to see a doctor. He wasn’t sure what it was, but gave me some antihistamines (allergy medication) and told me to try not to scratch.
I lay in bed that night trying to distract myself with anything, but I could feel it. Them. The little things crawling over me, picking at my skin. I couldn’t take it. I scratched. Just a little at first, but that seemed to make them angry. They picked more and more and I had to scratch harder and harder.
I guess I must’ve fallen asleep at some point because I woke up far too early the next day. I went to rub the sleep out of my eyes, but my hand felt wet. I slowly focused on my fingernails to see that there was blood crusted underneath them. The rest of my hand was pretty much covered in blood. I threw the sheets aside to find both my legs bleeding.
I had scratched skin of in patches. The skinless patches hurt like hell, but they weren’t itchy anymore. After days of torment, it was a type of small relief. I was pretty scared that I could do that to myself, so I resolved to quit scratching cold turkey.
I made it through half an hour. It felt like a swarm of tiny insects was crawling over me. Slowly, I felt like they were crawling over my entire body. Even the skinless patches on my legs were starting to itch again. At the two hour mark, only my face was untouched by nail marks. The rest of my body was right from the constant scratching.
I phoned my doctor again to make an emergency appointment, but he was closed for the long weekend. I didn’t think it warranted a visit to the emergency room, so I tried to scratch as least as I could. The itch became unbearable though. The next day, I started seeing them. The little creatures that swarmed over me, that bit and picked and transferred to everything I touched. My friend came over to visit that night, but I wouldn’t let him into the apartment. What if they got onto him?
Slowly, I scratched off more and more skin. My nails were ripped and bloody, I could see the muscles in my arms and legs. I’m not entirely sure how I stayed alive. I stopped registering days and nights. Everything blended into one solid hell. Sleeping was no longer an option. I could see them in my food, so I stopped eating. If one of them got inside me, started picking at my innards….No. I wouldn’t survive that.
Monday came and went. Probably. It felt like I hadn’t slept in years, but that’s not possible. It can’t be. At least, I don’t think it was that long. Maybe it was only a couple days. I don’t know.
I didn’t own a gun, or have anything that could act as a poison, but I knew I couldn’t live like this anymore. The constant itching was unbearable, the blood from my legs and arms was attracting more bugs. I think they were in my head. I could hear them when I tried to sleep at night.
I had a glass in my hand. I could see the bugs inside. Maybe they would’t make my insides itch. Maybe they’d just eat them and it wouldn’t hurt.
*************
I was wrong. I could feel them. Crawling. Scratching. I started scratching my stomach. More and more and I couldn’t stop. I ripped through the skin and keep going. The pain was intolerable, but I couldn’t seem to stop. I could feel the life slowly going out of me, as I watched the pool of blood get bigger and darker. Then they came. I’d been screaming, I guess, and one of the neighbours called the cops. I tried to warn them about the bugs. I tried telling them not to come in. They got me to a hospital and handcuffed me to the bed. I must have sounded insane to them, but some of the bugs came with me. I saw them crawling on people. I’m not entirely sure on the passage of time, but I eventually got transferred to an asylum.
They let me out a couple years later, when they were sure they convinced me there was no bugs. I went back to my old apartment and stood outside the door. I must’ve been there for over an hour before I took a deep breath and opened the door. I have no idea how they survived all those years, but they did. There was a swarm of bugs just waiting inside the door.
They asked me later why I tried to burn the apartment building down. Why I killed that little girl. It was better. I’m not proud of what I did, but better she die quickly than to live long enough to scratch all the skin off her body.