Night

As she screams she scratches more and more at the crook of her arm. She pulls and tugs at the sharp object through the burning in her veins. What had seemed like pain before was a mere shadow of the intensity that touching the object brings. Her breathing has increased to hyperventilation, and she can feel the oxygen leaving her brain. She tries to calm her breathing, yet it is an exercise in futility. She continually rips at her arm to rid herself of the pain. Warm blood leaks from her arm to the floor. It smells like metal and she begins to dry heave. She feels consciousness slipping from her, and she vaguely feels her head hit the floor, her face wet as it comes into contact with her blood. As if controlled by its own impulse, her hand continues to scratch and tear at her skin, eager to rid itself of the foreign entity that is causing so much pain. Her brain continues to fight through the pain, and finally she feels the object begin to give. Her breathing slows and she takes a deep breath and pulls out the object. She closes her eyes and waits for the pain to recede. Her brief time inside this institution has taught her that if she is patient with the pain, it will disappear faster. She feels herself returning to normality and she begins to sit up. The blood on the floor and her face is sticky from the exposure to the air. Her hair is matted to her head with a mixture of blood and sweat. She gazes down at the object. It is as black as pitch. Three inches in length, it is sharp at both ends. She leans down for a better look and is immediately repulsed by the smell it is emitting. She cannot pinpoint the smell. It reminds her of rotting leaves and stale pond water. She stares at it in fascination. It begins to disintegrate in front of her. Black liquid pours out from within, hissing as it comes into contact with the pool of blood. Her curiosity gets the better of her and she touches the liquid. She draws her hand back quickly as her fingers are singed by the liquid, her fingerprints gone from the acidity. Poison. One solitary poison barb within her skin. How many more could there be she wondered. Where did they come from? How could she get rid of them, when ripping them from her body caused her thrice the pain? She sits back and weeps as the adrenaline drains from her body. Screams still staccato through the night, and she wonders if others are pulling barbs as sharp and poisonous from their skin.