The New Flesh

Sunday, Dec. 5th

She had the bruised, needle-track-riddled arms of a diabetic junkie. They shoved a cotton swab up her coochie. She pissed on little cloth strips. She didn’t have AIDS, Chlamydia, gonorrhea, syphilis, herpes, hepatitis, crabs, scabies, or rabies, and best of all she wasn’t pregnant. The needle prick on her upper arm hadn’t swelled, she was free of tuberculosis. They told her to come back and test again in a few weeks.

She reeked. The repulsive stench of the rapist clung to and couldn’t be washed from her flesh no matter how hard she tried until she finally bathed in tomato juice like you’re supposed to do if a skunk sprays you.

She had lots of bruises, the worst of which was the one on her tit, where the so-called Werewolf Rapist had bit her.

The talking head on the TV news said the sex-cops thought the Werewolf Rapist’s fangs were dentures made from lizard’s teeth. The sex-pigs found bacteria native to the mouth of a komodo dragon on the bite wounds of several previous Werewolf Rapist victims.

The talking head on the TV news didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about. The crooked yellow fangs were the Werewolf Rapist’s very own teeth; she became convinced of this as they were sinking into the flesh of her mammary.

She counted herself lucky he hadn’t taken a chunk of flesh out of her tit.

As she poured bleach over the bite marks to kill any lizard germs, she noticed that the wound on her tit where she had been bit by the Werewolf Rapist seemed to be growing little white hairs and the bruised flesh in the center of the circle of purple-red teeth marks was encrusted with some sort of maddeningly itchy, blackish-reddish rash.

She rubbed salve all over the bite mark before liberally coating it and all of her other bruises with Bruise Away Overnight Bruise Remover (pat. pending).


Monday, Dec. 6th

Strange how regularly spaced the itchy hairs sprouting from the wound are, one little white sprout per tooth impression. She counted them, the Werewolf Rapist has fifty teeth.

That seemed like a lot to her. The internet agreed, it said an adult human has thirty-two teeth, and a wolf only has forty-two teeth. The only mammal with fifty teeth was the opossum; the so-called Werewolf Rapist should be called the Werepossum Rapist. She thought about writing an anonymous letter to the media informing them of their error, but she didn’t.


Wednesday, Dec. 8th
The center of the wound is turning black, like a venomous snakebite, localized necrosis. Surgeons had had to cut her dad’s sister Cornessa’s arm off after she got bit by a cottonhead or a coppermouth or some such evil poisonous serpent back when she and daddy were kids. Was the Werepossum Rapist’s bite venomous?


Saturday, Dec. 11th

On closer examination, the lil’ white things growing from the scabrous puncture wounds the Werepossum Rapist’s fangs had left in her flesh aren’t hairs at all. She doesn’t know what the hell they are. Lil’ fish-bone-y needles that break the cheap flimsy scissors she tries to snip them off with.


Monday, Dec. 13th

The white needles growing from the rapist’s bite are getting longer and fatter and the flesh-eating infection is devouring the meat at the bite’s center, now a sunken crater of scabrous flesh turning into a pit.

She kept it covered with bandages to keep from thinking about it.

The problem with this system was the daily peek at the wound became rather intense.


Thursday, Dec. 23rd

She had all the tests again, and they all came back negative again.


Tuesday, Dec. 28th

Teeth, the little porcelain needles are teeth, little fanged serpent’s teeth. She could deny it no longer. The pains of teething wouldn’t let her. She had suspected it earlier, but when the teething pains began her denial died a dull aching death. A constant dull ache over her heart, more annoying than painful, and more terrifying in its implication than annoying.

The flesh in center of the circle of fanged teeth-marks rotted away to nothing, leaving a hungry fanged mouth on her tit just over her heart. The seeping pus thinned and turned into a constant trickle of saliva drooling from her new titty-mouth.

Strange when your own body seems alien to you. Like some awful second puberty, first time was bad enough.

She tried to drown the parasitic mouth in ointment, squirting a whole tube down it, but she somehow knew her titty-mouth liked it. She tried to keep it covered with a bandage to keep from thinking about it, but the horrid little mouth would chew through the gauze then vomit up wads of sodden slimy cotton.

She thought about sewing the horrible little mouth closed.


Wednesday, Dec. 29th

The rapists’ bite bit off the tip of right index finger just above the last knuckle.

While she numbed her amputated finger stalk with ice, she hoped her new titty-mouth didn’t develop a taste for human flesh.

While she sewed the wound on the end of her pinky stump closed with dental floss, she hoped it didn’t turn into another tiny fanged mouth.

"Rapist's Bite"

Story & Image Copyright: © 2011 Joshua Dobson

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