Originally published on the 7th of January, on Facebook.
A few nights ago – and after some horrendous dreams – I started writing a new story. I’m not sure where it’s going… yet. Below is an excerpt from the story and I’m quite proud of it. Be warned that it’s A) NSFW, B) not for the faint of heart, C) unfinished, and D) there are grammatical issues I’ll fix in the editing process.
Without further delay here is an excerpt from the (tentatively) titled chapter: Skin
Enjoy and let me know your thoughts!
I got home late, much later than I usually would. I wasn’t going to get much sleep and I hated that fact.
That night I was thrown into a deep sleep. It had been a long time since that had happened to me, and maybe I needed a late night to get a good night’s rest.
My dreams were filled with men and women. They hung from wells. Dark wells. Dark places. Places of brick and concrete and dampness. They hung in these dark places now. One by one, their skin was ripped from their bodies and laid flat on the ground. These people didn’t die but withered in pain and agony. They screamed.
I too hung with them. Finally came my turn. Cuts began to form at the tips of my fingers and the top of my head. They slowly etched their way down my wrists and my arms. Slowly the skin began to part. At first the feeling was warm and itchy and I wanted to scratch myself all over, but it quickly evolved into a white hot sensation. I could feel the skin begin to slowly rip from my muscles. That was the worst part, it was a slow process. Sounds emanated from my hanging body the same way a rubber band snaps.
And it slid down me, from my torso to my souls. Soon my skin lay in a slumped heap on the floor as if I was the brother to a deflated twin.
I looked down at the smouldering mess of wet and bile. It stank of burnt meat and fat and the smell burnt my nostrils, or what was left of them. Blood and juices dripped from my muscles as I slowly swayed back and forth, writhing in absolute agony and pain. I burned so hot from the pain.
I screamed. I screamed louder than I ever could, or I ever would. I screamed and the others just looked at me and stared. At once all of them cocked their heads to the left and mouthed something. Their mouths were both open and closed at the same time.
I shouted out, but no words escaped me. None of them could. I realised my mouth had vanished as well. Now only muscle and sinew covered the place where it once was. My head resembled a blood-red lump of meat with two holes for eyes.
I was going to die here.
At that moment I awoke. I grabbed the pistol from under my pillow and pointed it around the dark room, hazily, desperately. There was no one there, at least no one that I could see. Everything was pitch dark and silent. In the distance, a scream rang out, which was followed by a gunshot and another scream.
Sweat dripped down my forehead and I panted. I struggled to catch my breath, but it eventually happened. I wiped the sweat from my brow as I looked over at the clock. It read four thirty am. I’d only slept for three hours, but that dream felt like days. It went only for longer than anything I could ever remember.
There was nothing I could do now and I didn’t want to go back to sleep. I decided to compose myself, dry off all of the sweat and head to the office. I’d soon realise that dream wasn’t the worst part of my day.