New Flesh (Complete)

Part One
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It is hard to explain what has happened so I am going to be brief with its synopsis. I am addicted to a drug that doesn't really exist. That is the short version. For those whose interest this might have peeked, I will proceed with my account.

I won't hide that I am a user of more common normal drugs. I was at someone’s place the other day. A friend of a friend of a friend you could call him, and he was a drug dealer which made him an instant companion with me. He noticed something different about me I assume, because he asked me into the other room to check out a new product he had designed for mass production. Of course, I couldn't turn down the offer to try something new; after all, I have done worse.

So he sat me on his expensive couch and told me I should just relax. I guess it is appropriate to mention that I was well into my hallucination stage of the drugs I had taken previous to this, so I cannot give a completely accurate depiction of what happened, but I can tell you what I saw. He went into the other room for a second and came back.

"This will do" he said, "Give this a try, and tell me what you think."

He handed me a plain looking shoe box with the lid tightly secured on it. I opened it only to see what appeared to be fifty plaid cockroaches. I dropped the box and screamed. he smiled and picked it back up and placed the stray roaches back inside the box.

"It's ok," he said "there is nothing to be afraid. Try one"

He pulled out a knife and handed it to me and gave me instructions.

"Just cut a hole in your arm and insert one of these. That is easy. Just don't take too many, they can cause some realistic images, no matter how fake they are. They almost seem and feel real."

One of the last things I remember is taking the knife and cutting a hole in my arm, and him turning on Bach’s Goldberg Variation. It hurt pretty badly, blood started gushing out.

"That is enough" said...I just realized I never got his name. I only know him as 'The Turk'. Oh well. No matter. I stuck a bug near the wound slowly, and then the bug crawled inside it and started digging deeper into my arm. I screamed in pain. This is all I can remember for now. I will try to recall more later on.

Part Two
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Hello, again. My memory is finally coming back a little. I think I should mention that due to the amount of this drug I was taking, I was hallucinating quite a bit, making it hard for me to distinguish reality form my mind, so some of this might not be what really happened, it is all that at I can remember from my perspective.

I had taken the first roach, and then woke up in my room. I had no recollection of what had happened, other than the roaches. When I looked around I thought I was in the wrong house. None of the furnishings were mine, and the walls were covered in blood, but I looked outside, and sure enough, I was home. I looked at my arm and saw 15 scars on my left arm, all looked like they had been opened several times. How many of those did I take? How long has this been going on? For all I know it could have been days. I looked at the paper and saw the date. It had been an entire week since the party. That is one week of my life missing. I noticed a strange taste to. It was about time I made sense of everything. I went back inside and looked about the house to evaluate all the changes.

There was writing all over the walls, in black ink, almost covering the walls completely. Over the TV it said "Beware, they may watch you through the things you watch", next to the bed it said "Most vulnerable spot". Signs of paranoia were spread all over the house. The knives were locked up in the kitchen, and the toaster was in the bathtub. Then, I saw the box the same box with the roaches. I opened it and only saw five roaches. I then got an extreme urge to try one. I was going to need more, so I decided to go to my newly acquired friend to see if I could score some more.

I got into the shower before I left, and discovered more horrors. The toilet was locked shut with chains, and couldn't be opened, but little streams of blood managed to have dried up and crusted on the sides. All of the mirrors were broken, with only shards left in the sink which had black powder all inside of it. I looked in the cabinet and there were body parts in jars. I also noticed things on myself. I had strange markings and scars on me, and a scar on my stomach that was written upside down that read "Stop while you can." I pulled back the shower curtain and saw "leave" written in red ink rather sloppily across the wall.

I called a taxi and went to the "the Turk’s" house. There a woman with a black eye opened the door.

"You, again," she said before I got to introduce myself.

"You know who remember me?" I replied.

"It's kind of hard to forget, after what happened. By the way, they still haven't figured out how it happened."

"What happened again? I was a little out of it at the time."

"I am amazed you didn't remember this anyway. Sam died that night."

"Who is that?"

"Oh, that's right, you only knew him as 'The Turk'. Remember, his body was found in the bathroom during a the party. They said he was ripped apart. it was supposed to have been a lion, but there are no lions here that aren't caged, and besides, there were so many people there, and no one saw anything. So the police haven't figured out how it happened."

I paused for a while, without movement. I am addicted to a drug, and now the only person who had the resources and knowledge to get it is dead.

"I need to go" I blurted out.

"Well, what is it you wanted?"

I turned around and started walking back to the cab.

"I need to go" I repeated.

I tried to evaluate the situation in the cab. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't go to the hospital with this story, they would send me away. The driver turned up his CD of Bach’s Goldberg Variation. I looked out to window, while pondering my many new problems I had to sort out when I noticed Sam staring at me in one street corner. My eyes got wide as we passed another street corner. And standing on the next street corner was Sam again. The same went for the next street, and the next one, and the next. I can't write anymore...I...I need to think. I will be back.

Part Three
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I am back again, and things have gotten worse. Allow me to give you a brief synopsis of the situation: It has been three days, and I am biting my lips off with fear of what I am going to do. I had to take on of the bugs, and I only have four left. The last one couldn’t even subside my urges for more than five minutes. My wounds are starting to get infected, and I am starting to get a suspicious growth on the inside of my hand that looks a bit like lips. I can’t go the doctor because during one of my worse episodes I knocked the handles off the doors and placed every bit of furniture I had against the door. All of the windows were boarded up and I haven’t been able to get them off. I have little food or liquids, or anything that could sustain life for an extended time, but these concerns weren’t on my mind, I am concerned about getting the drug I need to keep me alive.

I have been writing more paranoid thoughts on the wall as my hallucinations have gotten worse. I don’t know what time it is since my clock turned into a giant eyeball that keeps on watching me. I think that is how they are going to observe me since I boarded my windows. It is like I live in another world since have cut myself off from the outside. I haven’t watched the TV since all I can get is a black screen with numbers counting down a long list of numbers, and the radio keeps on playing Bach’s Goldberg Variation over and over again, and that just gets my urges going again. I am tired, but I am afraid to fall asleep because I can’t tell when I wake up because my dreams seem so real, but I will need the sleep. I am going to sleep for now….

This is where my narration ends.

Our protagonist, William Lee, had been sleeping in front of his computer when he was woken from his abyssal sleep by a voice alien to him.

“Please,” said the voice”dictate the following: ‘I am tired, but I am afraid to fall asleep because I can’t tell when I wake up because my dreams seem so real, but I will need the sleep. I am going to sleep for now’”

The hands started typing without him waking up when finally he realized this wasn’t a dream. He hastened to his feet as his eyes darted around the almost empty room.

“There is no need for so much excitement” the voice said.

“WHO SAID THAT?” Bill screamed.

“Keep your voice down.”

Bill noticed that the voice was coming from his hand. He looked at both his hands and saw that growth had now become a mouth, with chapped lips.

“Come now, you must write while you can.”

“Write? Write what?” Bill said with some confusion.

“What do you think? Your account.”

“Why must I write it?” Bill inquired.

“Well, you do want the others to know what happened to you after you are dead. Best to write it out for them, save them trouble. How else will they figure out why a dead body is in a house that is completely destroyed? “

“How do you know I am going to die?” Bill asked with quite some hesitation.

Then Bill heard a scraping on the glass outside. He immediately investigated the noise, not giving the hand anymore thought for now. He started to pull on the planks as much as he could when it finally released, exposing the window. The window had the words “Who am I” written in red ink form the inside. Bill look shocked when the words changed to “I don’t know”.

“I told you” the hand said “we don’t have a lot of time.”

The radio turned on full blast with Bach’s. Bill was staring at the radio when he was startled by the television set turning on revealing the timer dropping down to lower numbers.

“See, we are running out of time” said the hand in an anxious voice.

“Shut up!” Bill yelled at the hand.

“Why?” the red ink said on the window.

Bill ran into the kitchen and pulled out the meat cleaver and brought it down on the hand in one quick move. The hand screamed for a second when it dropped into the sink. Bill’s eyes got wide as he looked at his arm. Not a single drop of blood came out. Instead, thousands of white capsules started pouring out of his hand, but not a single drop of blood.

“Is this what I have been doing?” the window said.

The toilet started rattling as if something were trying to get out as the timer on the television hit zero. The eye on the wall rolled up and turned to a mouth and said “Time’s up”.

All of the sudden a lion came out of the bathroom. It quickly came after Bill, slashing his face. Bill grabbed his face only to feel capsules pouring form the wound. The lion soon pounced on him, gnawing at him as capsules flied everywhere. The last thought Bill had been “They almost seem and feel real.”

The end.

Special thanks for the gift.