It’s time for a little body horror!
Seriously, if you’re uncomfortable with blood, you should probably skip this piece of flash fiction.
Fun fact – I suffer from dermatillomania. Thankfully, not to this extent. As I began to write about this person who picks away at themselves until there’s nothing left, I pictured an Eric La Rocca style vibe for the story and ran with it.
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It starts with something small. Like picking at a scab or popping a pimple. Don’t stop until you see blood. And then keep going.
Then you move up. Picking at the scabs of scabs, scratching away imagined lumps and bumps, trying to peel away a layer of skin that just isn’t sitting right.
If one single hair is out of place on any part of the body, or if its texture or thickness doesn’t match the rest, pluck it immediately. Repeat until my eyebrows are different shape, until I’m half bald. Repeat until there’s nothing left.
They call it a disorder, but it makes me feel so alive. Tearing away at every imperfection. Making myself new.
Even when you’re bleeding, don’t stop. Never stop. Keep picking away until there’s nothing left.
I can see my insides.
