A steady itch crawled up my arm, beginning in my fingertips. At first
I simply needed to clench my fist repeatedly, but soon it spread like
morphine through my veins, clawing up to my elbow before consuming my
entire left arm like a phantom flame, burning away only in my mind.
I scratched and clutched at my shoulder, glancing around for the cause
of the invading feeling. The street continued as normal, the quiet buzz
of daily life keeping passersby distracted from the uneasy wind passing
through the street. Bells chimed in the distance, though a glance at
the clock tower showed seven, a simple late evening. The ringing
continued, growing louder. The chimes hit eight, and ignored
thier mistake, continuing on. They were deafening, no longer coming
from the distance, but the ground beneath me. The street was silent,
even the cars passing by on both sides. Both sides? I was in the center
of the street now. Cars passed silently, showing no concern to nearly
charging through me. Nobody glanced at the mad man wincing and
scratching at himself in the street. The bells continued. I lept
between two cars, running into the street. My shoulder, my burning
shoulder, caught a man as I past. He stumbled aside, but kept his eyes
forward, marching into the middle distance with no expression. I followed
his lead, sprinting into an alley with my eyes fixed on a fictional
horizon. I tripped, on what I never saw, and slammed into the ground
without bracing, my fingers clawed deep into my shoulder, replacing
the itching with a relieving agony. I rested my forehead on the wet
cobblestone, panting harder than my brief excertion would demand.
I pushed onto one arm, leaning back onto my knees. Rain hit my face.
It had been raining for days, even if it had only started now. It
put out the fire in my arm. My sleeve grew wet and heavy and empty.
I grasped at it, but there was no arm beneath. It washed away with the
pain. I glanced back, and the alley grew endless. I glanced forward and
the alley ended just ahead. A single, giant hand pressed through the
wall, spilling and stretching it like sap. It was grasping at thin air.
I stared at it as it clenched and stretched further towards me. More
joined it. Smaller, slender appendages, less whole arms, reached from
the walls and the ground, but these showed no interest in the world,
they grabbed at the prominent arm, growing endlessly long as it invaded
the alley. Each hand grasped at it, tearing away at it like candles to
wax. Each drip from it grew new arms, though it never got any smaller,
only longer. I forced myself to my feet, and stumbled back as it neared
me, still grasping blindly for something. I lept back with new found
strength, feeling me heart beating for the first time since I fell.
It caught my sleeve, tearing it off between two giant fingertips.
Blood poured from my shoulder, thick and red, but growing dark as it
hit the stone beneath my feet, slipping into the forest of arms like a
river. I turned my back in two heavy steps, my blood spilling between
my feet and sticking to my books. It stretched and spluttered with each
step I took, though it never slowed me down. I sprinted, adrenaline
replacing every drop of blood I lost. I could hear the arms spreading
behind me like oil. My legs took me as far as they could, but I never
moved, they alley merely stretched behind me. In the distance I could
see the street. People continued on their paths, never glancing into my
own personal branch. It splintered out more and more, new alleys
forming either side of me as they swept past my motionless sprint.
The street pulled itself closer underfoot, and I could feel the giant
arm still snatching at thin air, growing desperate or angry.
Either a minute or a day past of running through this splinter. The sun
rose, regardless of time, and set with no moon in the sky as often.
I lept into the street, and dived to the side as the arm chased me out.
I turned, still stumbling backwards, watching for the limbs emergance.
It never came, a man collided with me, I spun around and he glanced me
up and down before shaking his head and marching past. I watched him
as he went, before staring at my hand. Hands. I glanced around the
street. It was raining. There were bells. The clock tower showed 7.
The ringing stopped. I peered into the alley cautiously. Garbage, a
simple crack in the far wall. Empty of life, or limbs. I was sweating.
Thre was no rain. I wiped my forehead with my returned arm and marched
on down the street, eyes in the middle distance.