Well Hiya Folks. I'm Fester Bones and just creeping around The Cemetery getting graves and tombstones organized and it won't be long before I have a freshly dug spot waiting especially for you... Here's a little ditty called The Itch to make you ponder & squirm...Hahahahahahahahahah!
My palm began to itch and although I knew exactly the source, the old monetary adage implying luck crossed my mind while I scratched deep, hard, and harsh. The crooked smile crossing my face was merely a façade, the reflection of a mind’s desperate attempt at maintaining joy and eliminating disgusting truth. I knew that too. However, I oddly appreciated. The itch was within reach today and not dwelling in or around an unreachable location, like the middle of my back, nor was it lingering near any of the fresher scrapes and scratches, already having been filled with caked, dried blood.
Scratching harder, as usual, I watch surface blood begin to mesh with flaky bits of flesh, tinting the underside of my long fingernails a brighter shade. I keep them as long as possible for this very reason and to tell you the truth, couldn’t recall the last time they were actually trimmed. Nonetheless, however long they get, the length is never long enough and the itch is either too deep or too quick at evading. It’s as if my mind is being read prior to action.
No longer concerned with the streaks, scabs and welts covering much of my body, I only add to the college by continuing to dig harder into my palm. The blood flows freely now and the itch only burrows deeper, away, eventually fading into wrist and lower forearm. Consciously I give chase.
The worms are moving again…
Note: Actually written by Thomas Scopel and first seen at Flashes in the Dark