“It’s all in your head,” the doctor said.
But the man knows different. He pulls the copper wire protruding from his skin till comes free with a bloody, satisfying pop, and he holds it up in front of his face.
“You’re only in my head,” he tells it, and laughs.
And then he cries. Deep, heaving sobs.
No one understands.
Crazy. Cukoo. Confused.
But he knows. His skin is a prison, a hateful man-suit, every square inch a fresh torment.
He knows that somewhere underneath is all, he must be normal.
So he takes a knife
and starts digging.
[This is my entry for the Straight Jacket Micro-Fiction Challenge. For what it’s worth Morgellons is a 100% real imaginary disease. Or maybe it’s not so imaginary. Either way, it creates great distress for those afflicted with it, and I wanted to capture the silent terror of being afflicted with a disease that no one else believed in. I hope I’ve done it some small justice.]