The itch tingles, spreads, scampers up Seth’s shin, shifts, drifts direction, cramps the calf beneath the skin. An itch that can’t be scratched, etched deep in the flesh- unwelcome, unattainable, edging him towards insanity as attempts to appease it appear ineffective. Fingers flex over fabric, fingertips ghost, graze, gash, nails strike skin, serrate, lacerate, expose flesh. Blood surfaces, slithers, stains, suffocates the itch. A rush of relief arrives at last but it’s but a fleeting instant- the itch insists, ignites exasperation. It’s impossible to eliminate, eradicate. An eternal torture, a torment designed to deplete lucidity and reduce rationality to ruins.
Story #39 was pulled out of Drabble #2 by the request of the writer.