Event Horizon

When he scratched, the irritations grew red and painful. When he stopped scratching they itched even more.

Now his crutch itched. He scratched amongst the pubic hairs, drawing blood.

Inside his chest a stone rested - A dead, slow, suffocating weight. He wheezed a chuckle. Soon it would be gone.

It hadn't always been this way. He remembered making love to Rachael, Her nipples erect like brown baby fingers, her small body arched over as they came.

Afterwards she'd stroked his smooth skin. He'd held her - close and curled up - her fine blond hair tickling his chest.

"If I died tomorrow," he'd said, "would you kiss me one last time?"

"A kiss that lasts forever."

"Yes."

"I'd weep over you. My tears would slip across your skin. Then I'd kiss you."

But she'd died. He'd wept over her, and the sores had spread, destroying the illusion.

The doctor had prescribed creams but they hadn't worked. She was half his age, with black, straight hair. Her breasts were small - like Rachael's - behind a cool, white blouse. She'd let him touch them.

"Let me scratch your sores," she'd said.

While she scratched him, they'd fucked on the examination couch. He'd bled into her.

This was different to Rachael. The corruption of his body had made him unholy. This was cruder and they gloried in its perversion. Doctors didn't do such things, but once the illusion shatters, delusion takes its place.

They'd made a lot of noise. When he left, the patients in the waiting room had stared disapprovingly. Their eyes had watered and their teeth had clicked.

Like pasty faced corpses they'd looked but hadn't seen. They were part of the corruption. All he could do was smile and show that he wasn't concerned.

He made another appointment.

[End of this extract. The full story was published in Nasty Piece of Work #4, July 1997]