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The Itch

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Author's note: This is my very first pasta. I would greatly appreciate feedback. Thank you for reading! Oh, I would also like to apologize for the title. It was the best I could come up with at the moment.

It started with a small itch. If I recall correctly, it was on my left shoulder. I would find myself scratching at it several times a day. So much so, that at the end of the work day, I'd come home to find my shoulder a reddish hue. It was at this point that I decided to try an anti-itch cream. It was to no avail. I'm not sure how many creams I tried. For a while, my whole bedside table was full of half-empty lotions. While my cream collection was growing, so was my itch. It got increasingly worse each day. It began spreading from my shoulder to my middle and lower back. It wrapped around my waist and engulfed my arms and legs.

Itch, itch, itch. Scratch, scratch, scratch. My body was sore from all the tearing at my skin by my fingernails. Dried blood and skin caked my fingernails. There was no point in washing it out, it'd build back up in an hour or so. Between scratching, I noticed that little sores began to develop in spots on my body. One on my leg, my waistline, and of course, there was a festering sore on the origin of the itch, my grotesque left shoulder. Despite the harm I was causing myself, I couldn't stop from scratching my skin. The itching sensation was maddening, and mad I was.

I was fired from my job after being unable to work due to the constant scratching. I had no contact with my friends and family because of the disturbed and disgusting state my body was in. I was left to sit away in my house scratching away the time. My life revolved around the itch... the never-ending itch. Prior to my isolation, my family insisted I be taken to a doctor. I obliged and visited my regular physician.

All he did for me was prescribe a heavy-duty anti-itch cream that had no effect and ended up joining my collection of lotion bottles. It seemed that my inescapable fate was to die from the itch. To die, sitting on my blood-stained rug in the middle of my foul-smelling house (for I hadn't cleaned in weeks).

I noticed one day while digging my nails into my arm that my wound was surprisingly deep. I saw a glint beneath the deteriorating flesh. I lifted a flap of my infected muscle to reveal a white bone. I couldn't sense any pain. My wounds did not sting, my exposed bone and the surrounding muscle did not ache with the excruciating pain that was to be expected in a situation like this. Pick, pick, pick.

My index finger scratched around the bone, picking away the muscle to reveal more and more of my arm support. I pulled away for a brief moment to scratch at the wound on my forehead, when I saw an ant crawling across my bone. I flicked it off and went back to my forehead. When I looked back, four more ants were crawling along my bloody flesh. It was an odd sensation... it itched.

I brushed the ants off and looked around for the source. I saw no infiltration of the insects in my home so I took a seat on my couch to continue my impulsive habit. I glanced down at my arm just in time to see an ant emerge from inside of my arm, to crawl across my bone and back into the other side. After it, more and more ants followed. I watched in awe as the insects crawled across my flesh and suddenly it hit me as to what the actual itch in my body was. The ants... they lived inside of me and they were feeding off my insides.

Their legs were tickling and taunting me from the underside of my skin. I screamed in horror and jumped up from the rug. The ants were pouring out of my wounds, all of them now, not just from my arm. I was a living, breathing ant farm. The itch, by this time was abhorrently prevalent, my whole body was consumed by the overwhelming urge to tear my skin off my bones. The ants kept marching out of holes in my skin and some began to dig themselves out from the inside. After escaping my body they latched onto my skin to feast on my flesh. I tried shaking them off, dusting them off my body. As soon as I got a batch off, more would engulf the area. Fear. I felt fear.

This wasn’t humanly possible, none of this was possible, yet it was happening and had been happening for the past months. These thousands upon thousands of ants were calling my body home. I gagged at the thought. I didn’t have much time to think about it after that. There was a painful feeling in my stomach. I doubled over in pain from the cramp-like feeling. Then a stinging sensation arose in my torso, I could feel my flesh being ripped open. I looked down in terror to find a giant ant head sticking out of my stomach, pincers lively snapping.

It crawled its way out of my busted stomach leaving me to fall on the floor out of pain. I could only assume it was the queen, the creature that put all of these horrid insects in my body. I watched helplessly as the ants crawled all over my body and began to eat my already bloody flesh. I was too weak to get up, and even if I could, how could I escape? I was soon completely covered by the vile creatures. I felt every movement they made. The crawling of billions of legs, the pinching and tearing by their horrible jaws... I would die here as a feast for ants. This was my last thought as I felt my eyes struggle to stay open. I didn't make them try for long, I gladly let the darkness envelope my mind, anything to get me away from the nightmare of my reality.

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