Sweet Dreams

It oozed from his body, seeping out like a thick slush; not quite solid but the consistency not so much like a liquid either. He touched the now open sores covering his body, unable to believe his eyes.

The pain from his own physical contact registered somewhere in the very back of his mind. How could this happen...

It had started as just itching and little lumps. He hadn’t even gone to the Dr since it just seemed like a minute case of hives. His arms were the first thing to break out and within a few days it was all over him.

He had told himself that this morning would be the day to go to the emergency room. Little did he know that same night he would be forcefully pulled from sleep with extreme agony. This is for sure worse than any torture he thought as he turned on the lights.

It had only been a few minutes, but he was unable to move, the shock of what he saw and felt keeping him in place.

He watched as more of what he believed to be puss slowly spilled its way out, clotting together before it dropped lazily to the floor, pulling together on the wooden boards. The color was a disgusting blood tinged yellow, on the brink of being brown. And it stunk of rotting flesh. Fear filled his lungs as panic set in. He shook uncontrollably, causing the clotting mucus to fall quicker.

Bile rose to his throat and he finally took action, running to the bathroom. He didn't make it past the door before puking, as much puss was falling to floor it wouldn’t have mattered, but he didn’t let it out. The acidity of his stomachs content was burning the inside of his throat and mouth. He held it in till he reached the toilet, allowing the puke to spill out into the empty white bowl. The sores on his face now leaking into the toilet as well. Plop, plop, plop. He couldn't help it, the site forced yet another angry episode of convulsions followed by dry heaves. Looking away he flushed the toilet. Fists clenched, shaking terribly, he mustered what little strength he could and forced his way into the shower. Slowly he peeled each article of clothing off, the movement seemed to upset his wounds. Parts of his clothes had become stuck to the wounds like a thin layer of skin. New eruptions of pain wafting over his body, it was like being self mutilated.

Every part of him seemed to be covered in grotesque holes and puss. He closed his eyes, wishing this was just a dream, that he could wake up and have it all be over. But it seemed that things were far from that. An odd sensation ran up his spine. A new layer of anguish registered across his face.

Small white maggots began to slide out, mixed with the puss, and down his body, or falling straight to the tub floor. The maggots squirming and sliding around. He cringed with sheer revoltion, tears welling. Falling to his knees he reached for the knob to the tub. His hands fumbled for a minute as he forced himself to see through the pain. Quickly he turned the hot water on to its most scolding temperature. The steam was as instant as the stinging pain that ensued. He was on fire before, but now it was like his flesh was boiling. No longer could he take the pain, he was losing consciousness, while the scolding water continued its feeble attempt at a cleanse. Was this how he died? How did this even happen? Why him? Why?

A voice screamed distantly and sirens played. It was all so far away. It didn’t matter, it was too late. Everything was going dark.

He woke in his bed with a start, feeling every part of his body, starting with his face. His hands hesitated for the slightest second before touching skin. Even in the darkness it was easy to tell. The sores were not there, he was fine. It had just been a dream.

A sigh left him, it would be okay.

He traced some scars of where they had once been, knowing they were no longer a fear. However he did not feel relieved.