The Itch


Someone is standing outside the door and listening… I should pretend to be doing something that I am not, to throw them off course… I look around the room and decide on doing nothing. I’ll be really quiet and they’ll have nothing to listen to. They might even think that I’m not here at all.


I don’t know how long it has been… I am listening for movement outside the door… anything… an unbearable itch that they would have to give in to… shifting of the body weight… I want to rub my nose… the season has been brutal on my nose… I shouldn’t be the first to betray the stillness. They’ll know that I have been trying to hide, they’ll know that I am here. Stop thinking! It is too loud… what if they can hear my thoughts… I have to scratch my scalp… why is it so important to scratch… I’ll let the feeling be and maybe mask my thoughts with the desire to satiate this itch… this way they’ll never overhear anything. They might even feel the strong desire and end up giving in. I only have to outlast them.

I don’t know how long it has been. What is an itch? Is it even necessary? The world has faded away it seems. My eyes are closed and all I can feel is the need to relieve my body… the feeling is changing. It seems that without the itch I would be incomplete. How could I have been scratching it away all these years? I could’ve just let it be and not felt any other pain. What am I if not this itch… I itch, therefore I am… What is my body doing! I open my eyes is panic and discover my hand to be more than halfway to the nose… Did they hear it!? I stare at the door. Maybe no one is standing outside the door. Who would want to listen in to me? I am not that significant. I don’t call any shots. I scratch when I itch. I stop being anyone, to feel the relief of nails rubbing on the skin… maybe there is no one listening in. Wait!? I have to outlast them… remember? This is my chance to be. I itch, therefore I am… I’ll be and you’ll disappear.

I don’t know how long it had been… I hear a movement! It seems they are convinced, I’m not here at all… and I haven’t been here so much ever before. They are leaving! I hear the effort to remain silent… as they leave… should I let the itch leave too? Maybe they haven’t left. In any case, I can’t let the itch go… I will disappear from existence again…

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