Hell's Itch

He paced around the room, writhing in agony and ripping at his skin like a madman.

“Please, find something!” he cried between sobs. “I can‘t take much more of this!”

“Serves you right! I told you to put a shirt on, but did you listen? Nooo.” she reprimanded him. “I‘m checking something out on this website I found. I think it’s called Hell’s itch.”

“Yeah, great, just please find something!” he begged. His skin was mottled with peeling skin and bright red scratch marks. Though it looked like a regular sunburn, he was scratching at it like a thousand ants were under his skin, biting him.

Jen scrolled through the website.

She read, The itch is unlike ANYTHING ELSE. It makes me want to rip my skin off with rusty razors.

She scrolled some more.

If there was a cure that required you to rip off your toenails with a rusty chisel and then eat them, I would have done it in a heart beat.

Gross, she thought to herself.

She scrolled even more.

Military men, fully grown adults, and people with high tolerances for pain all concur that this is very difficult to deal with.

“Yup, I definitely think this is it.” she confirmed. “It says that anti-histamine and hot showers will work. You can have some of mine.”

“Oh my god, THANK YOU.” He practically sprinted to the medicine cabinet. He managed to pop 3 of the tablets in his mouth between muscle spasms and the irregular twitching.

Jen rushed over to stop him from overdosing.

“That‘s plenty!” She filled a glass of water. “This Hell‘s itch seems pretty bad. I hope this will work.”

“It‘s worse than bad. It‘s Hell.” as he guzzled the water. “It would make Colonel Sanders give up his secret recipe.”

He grimaced.