the wall

She arrives at the apartment with it to her left, slightly buzzing and close. It wasn’t clear why this was the place, but the proximity of it made her skin grow cold and prickle. She’d seen what happened when others touched it. The agony on their face as it engulfed them, tearing them apart. She knew from others that she couldn’t touch it. She couldn’t go near it, and had to ignore the flickering little bit out of the corner of her eyes that made her want to look.

She knocks on the door, carefully looking over her shoulder, then glancing away. Feeling its obelisk presence on her shoulder, approaching, enveloping. It wasn’t this powerful in the beginning. At first it was just a spot, one that appeared shortly after her 28th birthday. Over the months it slowly grew in menance and intensity until one day it nearly killed her. She made the mistake of being able to see it clearly, then trying to touch it….

The door opens and an unassuming man in a t-shirt and jeans answers. He has a shaved head and no eyebrows, no hair on his arms, and potentially no hair on his body. He looks her up and down, and looks past her shoulder at it, then quickly motions her in, shutting the door behind her.

He calmly starts taking his clothes off, not saying a word. She sees he is hairless. Did it do this to him? Why is he the only one that’s immune, or so he claims? She had found him through connections, and searchs, found there was a small group of people who can make it go away. Who can make it stop and she was desperate for any cure.

He motions to a dining room table where there’s a large meat cleaver and a thick cutting board. She is wearing nothing but a simple dress, no makeup, or jewelry, and following instructions to the letter. He said she’d have to do the next thing to be cured, and she was ready to do anything. She undresses and walks to the table, picks up the cleaver. She starts to shake, does she actually have to? Why? She tries to place her hand on the cutting board, it’s already stained with blood, and she can’t.

He walks to the couch and sits down, turns on the TV and starts to watch porn, completely oblivious to her struggle. He’s clearly done this before. He seems prepared to wait. She see him, naked, getting hard and touching himself, and she looks at the board. Blood stains the surface in an ink blot test that suggests it’s been used 10, maybe 100 times. Others have come to escape this and have done this. How many couldn’t? How many simply accepted they would die and wanted to keep their bodies whole?

In her hesitation she starts to sense it outside the apartment, on the balcony. She begins to hear it, it’s buzzing screaming getting louder. It was only this loud the first time it almost killed her. When she woke in the night and it was over her bed, hovering waiting for her to reach and touch it. It was angry, maybe scared, could she do it?

In a flash of fear and dread she grabs the hefty meat cleaver and slams her left hand onto the board. She feels that it’s wet, and realizes it was recently used but doesn’t hesitate. Taking the cleaver high in the air, pointing a pinky finger out and tucking the others, stares at it. Aiming to make sure she gets it right, feeling the man’s gaze on her as he sits on the couch stroking his cock, she slams the cleaver down on the last knuckle of her pinky and screams, shearing it off in one stroke.

She jerks up off the chair grasping her hand, blood gushing everywhere, all on her naked body, she tries not to scream but starts to cry. He said she can’t make any noise, and at this small whimper she hears it get stronger. She feels it push against the balcony and then it slowly pushes through the outside wall, filling the apartment. It’s a deep blue green wall, made of a material that can’t exist. It flows around objects in the room, devouring them and creeping on toward her. She can feel it extend in both directions infinitely, and impenatrably. The man ignores it, but when it gets to him it stops.

He’s been watching her terror, blood pumping from her finger, onto her body, and then he turns his head toward her wall. Still staring at her, reaches his hand out, and strokes it, as he touches it the surface changes, leaving trails of gold like he was passing his hand through a deep ocean activating bioluminescent bacteria. She’s never seen someone touch another person’s wall, never seen anyone even acknowledge the existence of them. Everyone who knows they exist are too afraid to speak about them, until one day they die and leave terrified messages on phones screaming nonsense.

He yanks his hand out of the wall and stands up, walking to her with direct purpose. Reaching past her with indifference, he grabs the severed piece of her finger then walks toward the wall, tossing it into the deep recess of it with force and power. The wall curves, then greedily eats it and explodes in reds and golds, ripping open and showing the balcony window behind it for a split second. The air crackles with the smell of burned flesh and the wall screams with glee at claiming a piece of its victim.

The man walks back to her, grabs her by the shoulder, yanking her up. Her pussy is wet in defensive anticipation of what happens next, what has to happen to rid her of this disease. To make this wall leave her in piece, she has to give into it and release into it.

She stumbles around, stands up facing him, he yanks her so her ass is toward him and her tits are facing toward the wall. She jerks her face back away from the wall, feeling its heat and power reaching for her, demanding her death. She instinctively thrusts her pussy and ass up so the man can access her and he grips her upper arms at the shoulder in a tight painful grip to hold her still, making her pinky drip more blood. Panting, stomach heaving in desperation, fear tearing her apart, she knows she’s going to die. Nothing will be the same after this, and the chance she survives is small. She starts to cry while she feels the man’s hard desperate cock hover behind her wet and aroused swollen pussy.

At the sound of her crying the wall lunges and the man plunges his cock deep into her pussy at the exact moment the wall hits her body. She feels the flesh of her tits tear apart, her face burn in intense agony while the relentless cock of a total stranger rips into her pussy and fills her with cum. The intensity makes her orgasm in an deep vaginal rage, squirting fluid onto the floor and pushing her cervix down as the wall envelopes her body, she passes into the wall with the man fucking her and holding her still.

Her scream inside the wall is silent, an expression of all her pain and anguish at her wasted life. The days she spent caring for nothing but herself. The people she ruined and betrayed. As her flesh is shredded from her body and her pussy violated she feels the sadness of her vapid boring life of leasure and pleasure. She sees behind her, through the depths of the wall, into her past and finds nothing of worth, nothing to live for, and regrets her years of pointlessness and stupidity. This accounting of her life comes up with nothing redeeming and presents her with the realization that she deserves to die for having never lived to that moment in her existence.

Just as it seems that it was over the wall stops. Her body half thrust inside it, the man’s cock slowly falls out of her, spent, and he slowly pulls her out of the wall. The flesh that was ripped and seared is slowly repaired as he gently pries her out of the wall, yet the wall is also birthing her. There is no explanation as to why, no reason. The wall is done with her. Slowly she falls out and to the floor, clean and whole, but only missing one piece of her pinky.

The man sits her up, turns her to the wall, and forces her eyes open. He points at the wall and she watches. It begins to fade, to slowly roll away, into a spot out of the corner of her eye, until it is finally gone from her vision. Yet she still feels it there, waiting, possibly to come back, but done with her for now.

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