Raspberries and nectarines hung low in the sky, ruffling the feathers of the religious and stirring the pot of ecstasy inside degenerates. Inside glory holes. Inside internal eternal craters longing for the placement of something more permanent than the itch.
The itch plagued them. The degenerates. The fools with blue eyes hunting skies, lakes, oceans, caverns of ice for anything, something to reflect their bottomless hunger back.
God, just something.
They danced until their feet cracked beneath the moonlight. Painted streets with their agony. Bones piled in the corners, heaps of them. A testament to the desperate search of those degenerates for that something.
Amidst the moaning, the groaning, the cracking of spines under pressure, the burning smell of human hearts cooking wafted around.
The streets flickered with life, hunger. Some degenerates had taken pause to munch on the barbecued flesh, swallow chunks of previous lovers with empty eyes. Madness slept and cannibalism roamed free. The streets buzzed with the heavy thrum of a life about to burst.
And then I saw them. The two with the cure balled up in their fists, shoved down their throats.
He, lanky like the spiders twitching on their webs, dragged the smoking end of his cigarette across her flesh raising nothing more than goosebumps. Points of pleasure. The heat warmed the apathy powering the hunger, encouraging the itch.
Muscles moved and jerked beneath his skin as the days of insomnia took their toll. A monster was rolling under the flesh.
Inside her, a thundering roar rolled over the empty plains of her hunger. Removing the most human aspects of her body, she jerked around, sloshed from side to side, and cracked her skull against the brick and mortar bookstore walls. A slave to electrical impulses, she moved only when the cigarette brush its smoke across her skin, woke her up from the strange slumber murdering the village of degenerates.
Her eyes rolled back, exposed swollen red eyelids leaking a blue liquid. The man’s eyes held on a second longer. He screamed through the gritted teeth of warped pleasure as he watched the blue mimic her iris and trail down her ashen cheeks.
He too, lost himself.
But the cure was not far off. The cure rattled in his raspberry teeth, hovering in her nectarine lips. They hummed closer, vibrating against one another, huffing in large breaths of burning heart.
The itch exploded.
They exploded within and around one another.
I can’t say how it happened, whether he took her or she took him but they devolved into fits of madness. The guttural noises popping from their mouths moved into some pre-historic state while their limbs made a mockery of puppeteers.
Whoever controlled them did a bad job.
But smiles filled them. They covered each other in bodily fluids, blood hung in their pores as it dried on smooth skin. They sunk their teeth into one another. Bit off ungodly chunks of skin and swallowed with a raspy shriek.
After that, they went quiet. Fell like the other piles of bones. Another two, three, ten people scurried over to their place to take up the same positions.
Soon, the village marketplace was crawling, writhing with these worms. These degenerates searching for something.
Some way to quell the itch. Some way to rediscover human love. Some way to manipulate it, teach it to save them. Some way to touch each other and find safety.
But it’s fine. These degenerates will find the cure and the disease will be eradicated.