Hey there! This is a short horror story that I started writing a bit ago and have now edited to a finalized (for now) state. Thanks to @NebulaDreams for betareading!
As a horror story and something written by me, there are naturally going to be content warnings. They are the following:
Now, doesn't that sound like a good time? Check the story out below if you're interested. I know I said it's in a finalized state, but I'm always open to and even looking for feedback. Enjoy!
I first noticed it when I was in the shower. A short and shallow vertical groove in the middle of my chest, just half an inch in length.
I figured that it was some kind of impression from something that had pressed against me for a long time or a minor wound that had already healed. I paid it no mind.
I went to work like any other day. I worked on the ticket I had. I didn't like it, needing to wrestle with a poorly thought out interface, but I managed it. Like I was supposed to, because it was my job. Nothing to celebrate there.
At least I didn't have to talk to my coworkers too much. Whenever I did, it was only through chat, thank god. I don't do face to face conversations well. When someone looks into my eyes, I know they can see me for who I really am. A phony.
But, well, I survived that day. I left for home, though stopped by the store on my way home to pick up some groceries. They cost too much. I felt bad again, even if I really wasn't buying anything I didn't need.
Finally, I arrived at my apartment, returning to its safety. It's a lovely place. Costly, though, like everything in the area is. There would be cheaper places further away, of course, but I need to be within walking distance of my workplace since I don't have a car - not that I could afford one. What, public transport? No, not in this part of the country.
I sighed and went about the rest of my day. Nothing surprising happened. I cooked, I played games, I watched streams. It was nice enough. Well, as nice as it could be with that constant veil of melancholy over me. The knowledge that things could be better, and they surely would be better if I was better.
Whatever. At 11 PM, I forced myself to stop chasing fleeting pleasures and went to bed. Sleep came some time later.
The following morning, I undressed for my shower, but stopped as I saw my bare chest in the mirror again.
The groove was longer. It was a full inch and more. Deeper, too.
I wondered briefly what in my wardrobe could be causing such an impression. It wasn't even reddened. But I was on a schedule, so I showered and got ready for work. I could ponder what was causing the impression throughout the day, being mindful of whatever happened to touch my chest.
There wasn't anything, really. Outside my t-shirt and hoodie, nothing was touching me like that. Finally, with a pit in my stomach, I opened up to the possibility that this was some kind of medical condition.
I do not have health insurance. I cannot afford it. I always knew it was a very risky way to live, but it had worked up until that point. And… well, this groove was something that could have gone away on its own. So, I decided to wait a little bit longer to decide whether or not I should force myself to see a doctor despite the costs.
Then something strange happened. On my way home from work, I saw a man pass me by on the street and thought something I'd never thought before.
I want him.
I wasn't gay. I hadn't been, anyway. I wasn't sure if that had just changed, though. The 'wanting' I felt was something new - a kind of desire to be close, closer yet, so close we two would overlap. It didn't feel quite the same as sexual attraction I'd felt before, but I couldn't figure out what else it could have been.
I tried to take a closer look at the man to see if there was something specific about him that had caused that thought, but nothing seemed to stand out. He was just a man - thirty-something, white with brown hair, average build. Jeans and t-shirt. Checking his phone.
Regardless, I shook the thought and made my way home. I spent the day like yesterday, and then I went to sleep. I dreamt of that man from before. He was on the street, walking away from me, still on his phone. But I wanted to be near him. I walked after him, then ran, then caught him - or so it seemed, but I woke up just then. I checked the clock and saw it to be 4:26. I went back to sleep.
When I woke up again, I looked under my shirt. The groove was even longer, at least three inches by now. It was deep enough that the edges of the groove obscured the skin in at the bottom.
This couldn't be a harmless impression anymore. It had to be something medical. Possibly dangerous. While I sort of wanted to pull apart at the edges to see how the skin underneath was doing, I decided against that - I could end up making it worse. Instead, I decided to look up a doctor on my phone right there and then. I scheduled an appointment, but I could only get one around two weeks from now. Two weeks… I just had to hope the groove wouldn't keep growing at the same rate.
On my way to work, that weird wanting-thought occurred again for a couple of people. A woman, another man, and most disturbingly, a child.
It had to be some kind of misfiring in my brain. It had to be. I couldn't be a pedophile. I couldn't be the worst thing that a person could be, not on its own and certainly not on top of everything else already wrong with me. I just couldn't be.
I suppose the silver lining is that I wasn't…
In any case, I tried to push away the thought again and had another day of work. I found it hard to focus even when accounting for the worries on my mind. I also felt hungrier than usual. I ate my microwaveable meal and still felt like I was starving. Had I forgotten my breakfast? I wasn't sure.
The wanting-thought came again with one person at work, Julie from HR. I suppose for her it made sense. She was quite attractive - pretty hair, long lashes, hourglass figure. Out of my league, though, definitely. And I knew I wouldn't be able to talk to her outside of work when I knew I could barely do so during it.
On my way home, the wanting-thoughts had already become more frequent. A third of the people I saw induced that response in me. I felt insane. Perhaps I was. Perhaps I am.
Back at my apartment, I figured what I needed to do was just to vent all this excess sexual energy. I jacked off. I hadn't done so in a while - I just hadn't felt that desire. I still didn't. Getting myself to the finish line was a Herculean task, but at least it brought with it a sense of relief. I felt as if I had to have solved the problem… or, at least, the psychological component. I spent the rest of the day normally and went to sleep.
I woke up with the groove having grown to the length of my forearm.
I suppressed my panic. I simply couldn't afford to panic. Literally. I did not have the money to pay for an ER visit. And I wasn't having an emergency, was I? It was just a weird groove. It didn't hurt or anything. I could still function, I could still work.
Work… I had to go to work.
So I got ready to leave for work. I left my apartment, then the building. Then I saw someone - a plump middle-aged woman. And my mind went…
I want her. I should take her. Take her, take her, take her. Now.
That and the sheer lust it brought with it scared me. Scared me a lot. I slipped back into the building, surely confusing her with my sudden change in behavior, and faced a wall until the feeling left.
I heard steps from the stairs. Someone was coming. I kept staring at the wall. I hoped they wouldn't say anything.
They. I couldn't even see them, but whoever they were, I…
I want them. I should take them. Take them, take them, take them. Now.
I shut my eyes and covered my ears and waited for the muffled steps to leave. Only after they were gone could I breathe properly again.
It was apparent that I could not go to work like this. I decided to consider it an illness and went back to my apartment to call my work to say that I was feeling unwell and could not make it that day. They understood. But I wasn't sure if I'd be able to make it the next day, either. Or ever again.
Still, I had to stay optimistic. There was still a chance that this was something that could be coped with. I hadn't yet tried going out right after I'd ejaculated, right? So I did the deed and I went out.
It didn't help. It didn't help at all.
Mouth dry, I returned to my apartment. I wondered what the hell I should do. My stomach answered that by grumbling. It was strange as I'd just recently had breakfast, but then again, not that strange. I'd also been weirdly hungry yesterday. Had to be another symptom of whatever medical condition was behind the appearance of the groove. Great.
Either way, I put my mind to eating the leftovers from yesterday. When I opened the plastic container for my chicken curry and rice, though, I gagged.
It had to have gone bad. That was the most reasonable guess. Even though the food looked completely fine externally and it smelled just like it smelled before… I just had a strong, strong feeling that I should not eat this. Like it would somehow hurt me, or at least make me puke with how nauseating the thought of forcing it down my throat would be.
I threw it out, though paused right after, wondering if I'd made a mistake. I could not go out to buy more food in my condition. Would I need to make use of any food I could?
No, that was silly. It was modern day. You could just order food to your house. Of course, it was costly, but surely a price worth paying when the alternative was to go out and see people you feared you might commit some crime against.
I also considered simply not eating, but that would likely be the costliest answer of all. What if proper nutrition was what I needed to keep this condition from worsening?
That in mind, I sought something else to eat, something fresher. But the apples and bananas in my fruit bowl were no better. Once again, they looked completely fine, they were just… wrong.
Okay. I just didn't have an appetite. I just had to wait for it to come back. It would surely come back. I made my way to my couch and started watching some videos. Gameplay footage from games I wish I could buy.
My hunger only grew. The dull pain became sharp pain, and the sharp pain became stabbing. It was ridiculous, though nothing I could laugh about. I'd only gone about three hours without eating, and I'd had a good breakfast.
Maybe I just needed to get the right food. I thought of my favorite - pepperoni pizza with extra cheese. Even then, something in my brain disagreed with the thought of consuming it, but I knew it had to be wrong. Pepperoni pizza with extra cheese was always something I wanted to eat. Always something that cheered me up. And by god, I really needed some cheering up now.
So, I ordered that pizza from the nearest place that did deliveries, because I wanted to wait the absolute shortest amount of time. I waited, still plagued by hunger pains, but feeling hopeful. In just a dozen more minutes, I would receive my pizza and be able to eat it and enjoy it and sate my hunger and lie down on the couch with a belly full of warm food and take a lovely nap. It had to go like that. It had to.
The pizza eventually arrived. I told the deliveryman to leave it outside on the floor and walk away because I had a contagious disease. The deliveryman did as asked, and after he was gone, I snatched the pizza and brought it to the living room table. I tried not to dwell on the fact that I had wanted him.
I opened the box and expected it to go like any other time I'd allowed myself that rare treat. A warm, mouthwatering cloud of the wondrous smell of cheese, tomato sauce and pepperoni wafting onto my face. The sight of an oh-so-unhealthy but oh-so-delicious meal, the anticipation, the picking of the slice, the first bite, an explosion of flavor.
What I got was vomit in my mouth.
I hurried to the bathroom and expelled the puke into the toilet bowl. I threw up three more times until it seemed like I was done. The thought came to rinse my mouth with water and wash down the putrid taste, and that earned me another spew. Not even water. I could not ingest even water.
After becoming sure I wasn't going to hurl anything more, I flushed the toilet, staggered out of the bathroom and kept going until I could crash down on the couch.
The weight of everything hit me and I began to cry. Cry, yeah, cry. A grown man. Over not being able to eat. What a fucking baby. I wanted to stop crying, keep my dignity, but it was beyond me, and that just made me cry even more. All the while that hunger was still clawing at my insides like a stressed-out housecat.
This… how much was this going to last?
Why was I even assuming it would end?
What if it didn't end?
It wouldn't end. It wouldn't. Of course it wouldn't. Of course this illness that came from nowhere at all would be the death of me. A fitting end to a bad joke of a life.
Well, about fucking time. About fucking time this pathetic wretch stopped burdening everyone around him. Really, this disease was deserved. It should have come sooner. It should have taken me sooner.
But it didn't. I still had to wait through an agonizing… how many days? Three, right? It took three days to die from dehydration. Three days of this pain, and no doubt more of it as it would go on with my body slowly breaking down.
Unless I…
No. I wouldn't call for help. What if those wanting-thoughts took control? Or this illness was contagious, and I would pass it onto someone else? No, it was better for me to die. I was supposed to die.
I just wish it didn't have to take such a long time.
Or… maybe it didn't.
I stopped sobbing as I realized that. I could save myself a lot of trouble if I just ended it early.
I'd had thoughts of suicide before. I'd never gone through with them because I felt like it wouldn't really make anything better. It would just make everything nothing. And, really, my parents - god rest their souls - didn't raise me for eighteen years for me to just drop off the face of the planet without paying back my debt.
But now I knew I couldn't pay it back, no matter how I tried. So… there was nothing else to do but die.
It seemed like it would make me sad, but it did the opposite. I finally had something I could do. Some change I could enact in my life. A way out of this misery.
I picked up my phone and began looking up the best ways to do it. It took a bit of digging with all those suicide helpline results it shoved in my face, almost long enough for me to get second thoughts, but I found out how to do it by knife. And I had a knife, one sharp enough.
With a great sense of purpose, I followed the instructions, no matter how painful…
And then it was done. I was bleeding. There was nothing left to do but wait. I tried to think of something profound, but nothing came to me. All I could think about was how it would all soon go black.
But it did not.
Instead, the pain in my arms suddenly muted.
I looked at my arms. The wounds had closed. There were only stains of blood with no origin.
It was… unreal. I suspected I had fully lost my mind. But just to be sure, I pricked the tip of my finger.
I watched the wound close in seconds' time. Whether that meant I was insane or really immortal, I couldn't tell.
Regardless, the shock of it all snapped me out of my trance. I left the bathtub, where I'd decided to do it - less of a mess that way - and put on my clothes. I rinsed off the blood on my arms and dried them off, then returned to my couch in the living room with no proper thoughts in my head.
Eventually, I fell asleep. Or lost consciousness, one or the other. I didn't dream. I wish I had. Dreams would have been a welcome escape.
As I woke up in the evening, the hunger had actually dulled somewhat. Enough to make the wait bearable, if only by a hair. Not that I knew what I was waiting for.
I watched some more videos. I actually watched the ones I'd marked for later watching but had never gotten around to. I might not have been able to kill myself, but I still felt like I was on death's door. Dehydration or malnutrition could still do me in, anyway.
I watched those videos into the dead of night. I cried again for a spell once or twice. Then I grew tired again and passed out.
In the morning, I realized that I'd overslept. I called my work and apologized that I hadn't informed them of my need for another day off in time. They told me I sounded terrible and they asked me if I was doing okay. I told them I was, still just had the sniffles. They shouldn't worry about me. No one should.
After that, I checked if food and water still nauseated me - really only out of obligation rather than any kind of hope - and the answer was yes. Naturally. And while I was checking for things I already knew to expect, I looked under my shirt.
The groove was, what do you know, longer again. It was so long now that I could not see the ends of it anymore. I followed the groove upwards with my finger. It stopped right underneath my chin. I followed it downwards. It at least had the decency to stop right above my dick.
Suddenly, though, I got an idea. I got up and went to the bathroom. I took off my clothes and stared into the mirror. I brought my fingers to the edges of the groove.
If I really was immortal, at least to wounds… it wouldn't do me any harm to see what was at the bottom of the groove.
Slowly, I pulled apart the edges.
Teeth.
Sharp, conical teeth.
I wanted to throw up, but I knew there was nothing to hurl.
Well. It didn't matter, did it. It didn't change anything. Things were fucked up before and things were fucked up now, just in a slightly different way.
Still, I felt like crying. Felt like. I couldn't actually do it - the tears didn't come. Must have been dehydration.
I didn't know what to do next, so I just stood there, staring at my ugly reflection. Thoughts drifted in and out of my mind like clouds, and like clouds, they were just as hazy.
With one such cloud, I started to wonder what would actually happen if I were to go outside.
At first, it felt irresponsible. But then I thought more about it. I was weak by now, right? I wouldn't have actually been able to hurt anyone. I would have just been seen, seen by someone, someone I could share my pain with, someone I could be close to. Close. Close. Close.
Suddenly, my mind was clear. A clear blue sky with no haze. Only the shining sun of the one thought that dominated - the wanting-thought.
I hadn't thought of that properly in a while. I hadn't physically shared a space with anyone in hours, and just hearing people on my phone or seeing them on the screen, for some reason, did not awaken the thought. But now…
Now I wanted again, and I knew that want needed to be sated. I had to go out. I had to see someone, be close to someone. Close.
I got dressed. I headed out. It was a bright day. The air was fresh. But the streets were empty. I supposed everyone was at work.
Then I heard steps.
A woman, a young woman, was heading towards me. The wanting-thought came. Surged. Screamed.
Take her! Take her! Take her! Now!
I began walking towards the woman. She must have seen the deranged look in my eyes, because she stopped in her tracks. As I approached, her terror grew. She turned around and tried to flee - but I couldn't let her go. I ran after her. Somehow, despite my weakness, I gained on her. She grew closer, closer, closer, until I was so close that a few more steps would see us collide, so close that I expected some part of my brain to stop me from walking into an obvious obstacle, but some other part told me that I really could advance further, that we could overlap, and I took another step and --
I tore open.
My chest, my clothes, all ripped apart as something erupted. Thin, whiplike appendages covered in teeth. They clung to the woman, drawing a scream from her before pulling back. Pulling her back, pulling her into me head first.
I saw blood spray and I felt the vibrations in my bones as something inside crushed her skull, crunching and grinding. It kept going as the whips drew more of her in - her chest and arms, her pelvis, her legs. With every inch of her, I felt fuller. More satisfied. In that moment, I could not feel disgusted. It felt too right.
When it was all done, I was intact again. The asphalt glistened in dark red and my clothes were ripped from the front. I felt heavy, quite heavy, but strong.
The groove was shut again. It was not longer, it was not shorter.
In a daze, I walked back home and entered my apartment. No one saw me on the way.
I collapsed back against my door. I curled up in a ball and covered my head. And I've been here since.
That woman's flesh is digesting somewhere inside me.
That woman's life is over.
Mine isn't.
And that's even worse.
As a horror story and something written by me, there are naturally going to be content warnings. They are the following:
- Blood and gore
- Body horror
- Vomit
- Mental illness (depression)
- Mild sexual content
- References to sexual assault and pedophilia (latter brief)
- (spoiler) Suicidal ideation and attempted suicide
- (spoiler) Death
Now, doesn't that sound like a good time? Check the story out below if you're interested. I know I said it's in a finalized state, but I'm always open to and even looking for feedback. Enjoy!
---
THE GAPE
Synopsis:
A man, one morning, notices a small groove on his chest that wasn't there before.
Genre:
Horror
Status:
Complete oneshot.
Length:
4000~ words
---
THE GAPE
Synopsis:
A man, one morning, notices a small groove on his chest that wasn't there before.
Genre:
Horror
Status:
Complete oneshot.
Length:
4000~ words
---
I first noticed it when I was in the shower. A short and shallow vertical groove in the middle of my chest, just half an inch in length.
I figured that it was some kind of impression from something that had pressed against me for a long time or a minor wound that had already healed. I paid it no mind.
I went to work like any other day. I worked on the ticket I had. I didn't like it, needing to wrestle with a poorly thought out interface, but I managed it. Like I was supposed to, because it was my job. Nothing to celebrate there.
At least I didn't have to talk to my coworkers too much. Whenever I did, it was only through chat, thank god. I don't do face to face conversations well. When someone looks into my eyes, I know they can see me for who I really am. A phony.
But, well, I survived that day. I left for home, though stopped by the store on my way home to pick up some groceries. They cost too much. I felt bad again, even if I really wasn't buying anything I didn't need.
Finally, I arrived at my apartment, returning to its safety. It's a lovely place. Costly, though, like everything in the area is. There would be cheaper places further away, of course, but I need to be within walking distance of my workplace since I don't have a car - not that I could afford one. What, public transport? No, not in this part of the country.
I sighed and went about the rest of my day. Nothing surprising happened. I cooked, I played games, I watched streams. It was nice enough. Well, as nice as it could be with that constant veil of melancholy over me. The knowledge that things could be better, and they surely would be better if I was better.
Whatever. At 11 PM, I forced myself to stop chasing fleeting pleasures and went to bed. Sleep came some time later.
The following morning, I undressed for my shower, but stopped as I saw my bare chest in the mirror again.
The groove was longer. It was a full inch and more. Deeper, too.
I wondered briefly what in my wardrobe could be causing such an impression. It wasn't even reddened. But I was on a schedule, so I showered and got ready for work. I could ponder what was causing the impression throughout the day, being mindful of whatever happened to touch my chest.
There wasn't anything, really. Outside my t-shirt and hoodie, nothing was touching me like that. Finally, with a pit in my stomach, I opened up to the possibility that this was some kind of medical condition.
I do not have health insurance. I cannot afford it. I always knew it was a very risky way to live, but it had worked up until that point. And… well, this groove was something that could have gone away on its own. So, I decided to wait a little bit longer to decide whether or not I should force myself to see a doctor despite the costs.
Then something strange happened. On my way home from work, I saw a man pass me by on the street and thought something I'd never thought before.
I want him.
I wasn't gay. I hadn't been, anyway. I wasn't sure if that had just changed, though. The 'wanting' I felt was something new - a kind of desire to be close, closer yet, so close we two would overlap. It didn't feel quite the same as sexual attraction I'd felt before, but I couldn't figure out what else it could have been.
I tried to take a closer look at the man to see if there was something specific about him that had caused that thought, but nothing seemed to stand out. He was just a man - thirty-something, white with brown hair, average build. Jeans and t-shirt. Checking his phone.
Regardless, I shook the thought and made my way home. I spent the day like yesterday, and then I went to sleep. I dreamt of that man from before. He was on the street, walking away from me, still on his phone. But I wanted to be near him. I walked after him, then ran, then caught him - or so it seemed, but I woke up just then. I checked the clock and saw it to be 4:26. I went back to sleep.
When I woke up again, I looked under my shirt. The groove was even longer, at least three inches by now. It was deep enough that the edges of the groove obscured the skin in at the bottom.
This couldn't be a harmless impression anymore. It had to be something medical. Possibly dangerous. While I sort of wanted to pull apart at the edges to see how the skin underneath was doing, I decided against that - I could end up making it worse. Instead, I decided to look up a doctor on my phone right there and then. I scheduled an appointment, but I could only get one around two weeks from now. Two weeks… I just had to hope the groove wouldn't keep growing at the same rate.
On my way to work, that weird wanting-thought occurred again for a couple of people. A woman, another man, and most disturbingly, a child.
It had to be some kind of misfiring in my brain. It had to be. I couldn't be a pedophile. I couldn't be the worst thing that a person could be, not on its own and certainly not on top of everything else already wrong with me. I just couldn't be.
I suppose the silver lining is that I wasn't…
In any case, I tried to push away the thought again and had another day of work. I found it hard to focus even when accounting for the worries on my mind. I also felt hungrier than usual. I ate my microwaveable meal and still felt like I was starving. Had I forgotten my breakfast? I wasn't sure.
The wanting-thought came again with one person at work, Julie from HR. I suppose for her it made sense. She was quite attractive - pretty hair, long lashes, hourglass figure. Out of my league, though, definitely. And I knew I wouldn't be able to talk to her outside of work when I knew I could barely do so during it.
On my way home, the wanting-thoughts had already become more frequent. A third of the people I saw induced that response in me. I felt insane. Perhaps I was. Perhaps I am.
Back at my apartment, I figured what I needed to do was just to vent all this excess sexual energy. I jacked off. I hadn't done so in a while - I just hadn't felt that desire. I still didn't. Getting myself to the finish line was a Herculean task, but at least it brought with it a sense of relief. I felt as if I had to have solved the problem… or, at least, the psychological component. I spent the rest of the day normally and went to sleep.
I woke up with the groove having grown to the length of my forearm.
I suppressed my panic. I simply couldn't afford to panic. Literally. I did not have the money to pay for an ER visit. And I wasn't having an emergency, was I? It was just a weird groove. It didn't hurt or anything. I could still function, I could still work.
Work… I had to go to work.
So I got ready to leave for work. I left my apartment, then the building. Then I saw someone - a plump middle-aged woman. And my mind went…
I want her. I should take her. Take her, take her, take her. Now.
That and the sheer lust it brought with it scared me. Scared me a lot. I slipped back into the building, surely confusing her with my sudden change in behavior, and faced a wall until the feeling left.
I heard steps from the stairs. Someone was coming. I kept staring at the wall. I hoped they wouldn't say anything.
They. I couldn't even see them, but whoever they were, I…
I want them. I should take them. Take them, take them, take them. Now.
I shut my eyes and covered my ears and waited for the muffled steps to leave. Only after they were gone could I breathe properly again.
It was apparent that I could not go to work like this. I decided to consider it an illness and went back to my apartment to call my work to say that I was feeling unwell and could not make it that day. They understood. But I wasn't sure if I'd be able to make it the next day, either. Or ever again.
Still, I had to stay optimistic. There was still a chance that this was something that could be coped with. I hadn't yet tried going out right after I'd ejaculated, right? So I did the deed and I went out.
It didn't help. It didn't help at all.
Mouth dry, I returned to my apartment. I wondered what the hell I should do. My stomach answered that by grumbling. It was strange as I'd just recently had breakfast, but then again, not that strange. I'd also been weirdly hungry yesterday. Had to be another symptom of whatever medical condition was behind the appearance of the groove. Great.
Either way, I put my mind to eating the leftovers from yesterday. When I opened the plastic container for my chicken curry and rice, though, I gagged.
It had to have gone bad. That was the most reasonable guess. Even though the food looked completely fine externally and it smelled just like it smelled before… I just had a strong, strong feeling that I should not eat this. Like it would somehow hurt me, or at least make me puke with how nauseating the thought of forcing it down my throat would be.
I threw it out, though paused right after, wondering if I'd made a mistake. I could not go out to buy more food in my condition. Would I need to make use of any food I could?
No, that was silly. It was modern day. You could just order food to your house. Of course, it was costly, but surely a price worth paying when the alternative was to go out and see people you feared you might commit some crime against.
I also considered simply not eating, but that would likely be the costliest answer of all. What if proper nutrition was what I needed to keep this condition from worsening?
That in mind, I sought something else to eat, something fresher. But the apples and bananas in my fruit bowl were no better. Once again, they looked completely fine, they were just… wrong.
Okay. I just didn't have an appetite. I just had to wait for it to come back. It would surely come back. I made my way to my couch and started watching some videos. Gameplay footage from games I wish I could buy.
My hunger only grew. The dull pain became sharp pain, and the sharp pain became stabbing. It was ridiculous, though nothing I could laugh about. I'd only gone about three hours without eating, and I'd had a good breakfast.
Maybe I just needed to get the right food. I thought of my favorite - pepperoni pizza with extra cheese. Even then, something in my brain disagreed with the thought of consuming it, but I knew it had to be wrong. Pepperoni pizza with extra cheese was always something I wanted to eat. Always something that cheered me up. And by god, I really needed some cheering up now.
So, I ordered that pizza from the nearest place that did deliveries, because I wanted to wait the absolute shortest amount of time. I waited, still plagued by hunger pains, but feeling hopeful. In just a dozen more minutes, I would receive my pizza and be able to eat it and enjoy it and sate my hunger and lie down on the couch with a belly full of warm food and take a lovely nap. It had to go like that. It had to.
The pizza eventually arrived. I told the deliveryman to leave it outside on the floor and walk away because I had a contagious disease. The deliveryman did as asked, and after he was gone, I snatched the pizza and brought it to the living room table. I tried not to dwell on the fact that I had wanted him.
I opened the box and expected it to go like any other time I'd allowed myself that rare treat. A warm, mouthwatering cloud of the wondrous smell of cheese, tomato sauce and pepperoni wafting onto my face. The sight of an oh-so-unhealthy but oh-so-delicious meal, the anticipation, the picking of the slice, the first bite, an explosion of flavor.
What I got was vomit in my mouth.
I hurried to the bathroom and expelled the puke into the toilet bowl. I threw up three more times until it seemed like I was done. The thought came to rinse my mouth with water and wash down the putrid taste, and that earned me another spew. Not even water. I could not ingest even water.
After becoming sure I wasn't going to hurl anything more, I flushed the toilet, staggered out of the bathroom and kept going until I could crash down on the couch.
The weight of everything hit me and I began to cry. Cry, yeah, cry. A grown man. Over not being able to eat. What a fucking baby. I wanted to stop crying, keep my dignity, but it was beyond me, and that just made me cry even more. All the while that hunger was still clawing at my insides like a stressed-out housecat.
This… how much was this going to last?
Why was I even assuming it would end?
What if it didn't end?
It wouldn't end. It wouldn't. Of course it wouldn't. Of course this illness that came from nowhere at all would be the death of me. A fitting end to a bad joke of a life.
Well, about fucking time. About fucking time this pathetic wretch stopped burdening everyone around him. Really, this disease was deserved. It should have come sooner. It should have taken me sooner.
But it didn't. I still had to wait through an agonizing… how many days? Three, right? It took three days to die from dehydration. Three days of this pain, and no doubt more of it as it would go on with my body slowly breaking down.
Unless I…
No. I wouldn't call for help. What if those wanting-thoughts took control? Or this illness was contagious, and I would pass it onto someone else? No, it was better for me to die. I was supposed to die.
I just wish it didn't have to take such a long time.
Or… maybe it didn't.
I stopped sobbing as I realized that. I could save myself a lot of trouble if I just ended it early.
I'd had thoughts of suicide before. I'd never gone through with them because I felt like it wouldn't really make anything better. It would just make everything nothing. And, really, my parents - god rest their souls - didn't raise me for eighteen years for me to just drop off the face of the planet without paying back my debt.
But now I knew I couldn't pay it back, no matter how I tried. So… there was nothing else to do but die.
It seemed like it would make me sad, but it did the opposite. I finally had something I could do. Some change I could enact in my life. A way out of this misery.
I picked up my phone and began looking up the best ways to do it. It took a bit of digging with all those suicide helpline results it shoved in my face, almost long enough for me to get second thoughts, but I found out how to do it by knife. And I had a knife, one sharp enough.
With a great sense of purpose, I followed the instructions, no matter how painful…
And then it was done. I was bleeding. There was nothing left to do but wait. I tried to think of something profound, but nothing came to me. All I could think about was how it would all soon go black.
But it did not.
Instead, the pain in my arms suddenly muted.
I looked at my arms. The wounds had closed. There were only stains of blood with no origin.
It was… unreal. I suspected I had fully lost my mind. But just to be sure, I pricked the tip of my finger.
I watched the wound close in seconds' time. Whether that meant I was insane or really immortal, I couldn't tell.
Regardless, the shock of it all snapped me out of my trance. I left the bathtub, where I'd decided to do it - less of a mess that way - and put on my clothes. I rinsed off the blood on my arms and dried them off, then returned to my couch in the living room with no proper thoughts in my head.
Eventually, I fell asleep. Or lost consciousness, one or the other. I didn't dream. I wish I had. Dreams would have been a welcome escape.
As I woke up in the evening, the hunger had actually dulled somewhat. Enough to make the wait bearable, if only by a hair. Not that I knew what I was waiting for.
I watched some more videos. I actually watched the ones I'd marked for later watching but had never gotten around to. I might not have been able to kill myself, but I still felt like I was on death's door. Dehydration or malnutrition could still do me in, anyway.
I watched those videos into the dead of night. I cried again for a spell once or twice. Then I grew tired again and passed out.
In the morning, I realized that I'd overslept. I called my work and apologized that I hadn't informed them of my need for another day off in time. They told me I sounded terrible and they asked me if I was doing okay. I told them I was, still just had the sniffles. They shouldn't worry about me. No one should.
After that, I checked if food and water still nauseated me - really only out of obligation rather than any kind of hope - and the answer was yes. Naturally. And while I was checking for things I already knew to expect, I looked under my shirt.
The groove was, what do you know, longer again. It was so long now that I could not see the ends of it anymore. I followed the groove upwards with my finger. It stopped right underneath my chin. I followed it downwards. It at least had the decency to stop right above my dick.
Suddenly, though, I got an idea. I got up and went to the bathroom. I took off my clothes and stared into the mirror. I brought my fingers to the edges of the groove.
If I really was immortal, at least to wounds… it wouldn't do me any harm to see what was at the bottom of the groove.
Slowly, I pulled apart the edges.
Teeth.
Sharp, conical teeth.
I wanted to throw up, but I knew there was nothing to hurl.
Well. It didn't matter, did it. It didn't change anything. Things were fucked up before and things were fucked up now, just in a slightly different way.
Still, I felt like crying. Felt like. I couldn't actually do it - the tears didn't come. Must have been dehydration.
I didn't know what to do next, so I just stood there, staring at my ugly reflection. Thoughts drifted in and out of my mind like clouds, and like clouds, they were just as hazy.
With one such cloud, I started to wonder what would actually happen if I were to go outside.
At first, it felt irresponsible. But then I thought more about it. I was weak by now, right? I wouldn't have actually been able to hurt anyone. I would have just been seen, seen by someone, someone I could share my pain with, someone I could be close to. Close. Close. Close.
Suddenly, my mind was clear. A clear blue sky with no haze. Only the shining sun of the one thought that dominated - the wanting-thought.
I hadn't thought of that properly in a while. I hadn't physically shared a space with anyone in hours, and just hearing people on my phone or seeing them on the screen, for some reason, did not awaken the thought. But now…
Now I wanted again, and I knew that want needed to be sated. I had to go out. I had to see someone, be close to someone. Close.
I got dressed. I headed out. It was a bright day. The air was fresh. But the streets were empty. I supposed everyone was at work.
Then I heard steps.
A woman, a young woman, was heading towards me. The wanting-thought came. Surged. Screamed.
Take her! Take her! Take her! Now!
I began walking towards the woman. She must have seen the deranged look in my eyes, because she stopped in her tracks. As I approached, her terror grew. She turned around and tried to flee - but I couldn't let her go. I ran after her. Somehow, despite my weakness, I gained on her. She grew closer, closer, closer, until I was so close that a few more steps would see us collide, so close that I expected some part of my brain to stop me from walking into an obvious obstacle, but some other part told me that I really could advance further, that we could overlap, and I took another step and --
I tore open.
My chest, my clothes, all ripped apart as something erupted. Thin, whiplike appendages covered in teeth. They clung to the woman, drawing a scream from her before pulling back. Pulling her back, pulling her into me head first.
I saw blood spray and I felt the vibrations in my bones as something inside crushed her skull, crunching and grinding. It kept going as the whips drew more of her in - her chest and arms, her pelvis, her legs. With every inch of her, I felt fuller. More satisfied. In that moment, I could not feel disgusted. It felt too right.
When it was all done, I was intact again. The asphalt glistened in dark red and my clothes were ripped from the front. I felt heavy, quite heavy, but strong.
The groove was shut again. It was not longer, it was not shorter.
In a daze, I walked back home and entered my apartment. No one saw me on the way.
I collapsed back against my door. I curled up in a ball and covered my head. And I've been here since.
That woman's flesh is digesting somewhere inside me.
That woman's life is over.
Mine isn't.
And that's even worse.
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