0.08 | Buried and Festered | Delise Vann

A tarantula fat and hairy  burrowed deep within the flesh of his chest. There it sat; nested in the crater of bloody raw flesh. The patient sedated, oblivious to the horror, lied on the steel operating table. Two towering men in pristine white lab coats peered in a type of fascination that was closer to excitement than horror. The spider turned and writhed inside the red flesh which was sore from the bristly foreign body. It pulsed, the flesh, hews of pink and red glowed, glistened, it wrinkled and rippled like a flower. The spider began to gyrate within him, a large bulbous egg sac slick with silk and fluid that oozed out of the spiders womb.

They saw that the male patient had developed an erection. The men looked away disgusted. The natural occurrence shamed them. Neither would admit that they desired to masturbate as well,while watching  the spider coil and press deeper within the mans soft pink flesh. The doctors began to sweat profusely, avoiding glances from the other.

A low deep pained groan rumbled out of the sedated man. It faded as it escaped the room,joining the sounds that no longer could be heard by the ears of men.

At least not in this time or place.

He slipped away, far beyond the physical. No longer trapped within the decaying shell, he understood why he had lived and why he had died. So many nights had revolved around the same thing.

His thoughts had been stagnant.

He had been lost within his own world, never attempting to understand any others but his own. Only now that he was dead,  could he see how little his life had served. Only in his death did there have any meaning to help others now; for the doctors watching his corpse being manifested with the self-propagating spider were over come with the desire to touch themselves.

Almost as if their minds had become one, the doctors began to sigh. An itch pulsing deeper and deeper within them; their skin growing hot.

The spider now in ecstasy writhed faster and faster within the still flesh, till smooth trickles of blood began to fill the gaping wound.

(Stop restraining yourselves. Though the time to act proper has its moments. Resist no more. No one need know the truth.)


Now was the time for them to throw aside the en-cumbersome tethers of society. Blinded by hot lust, grabbing at eachothers crotches, they reached inside pulling out their cocks and began to massage the other, grunting and gasping with each thrust. They did not notice that the patient was no longer breathing; for the spider had moved so rhythmically as to imitate a heart beat.

Semen sprayed to the floor, drops of it landed on the spider like warm rain. Finally the spider stopped writhing about.

They zipped their pants while coughing dryly, as if having just diagnosed a deep and profound disease. They turned away from each other again, as if they had not just jerked each other off.

The spider turned round and round; rising slowly now  from deep within the bloody ripped crevice of flesh.

They looked at the still body, hands trembling.

The spider slowly crawled off the body. It stayed there on the examination table. Its beady black eyes boring into the doctors.

They turned their eyes away, repulsed at their own reflections in the dark liquid orbs; those knowing eyes.

“He’s dead you insipid fools.”

The deep voice was spoken but not heard.

“Your own lusts and greed distracted you. Too ashamed by natural urges to be honest with what you are and yet boldly you grasp for man made ambitions. More ashamed are you of touching each other than you are of the fact that you let a man die  while jerking each other off.”

The spider’s eyes bored into them, unblinking, unflinching.

“Kill it.” They spoke in unison; hate and disgust tight in their throats.

Too distracted to be a coherent thought they wildly stabbed with their scalpels.

It scurried back towards its nest in the flesh.

They yelled as they speared it through, skewering spider and man as one.

The corpse penis was very much erect.

(What have we become?)


Motivation for writing


I had a weird nightmare a few years ago, wrote it down and this was what I wrote. I never do understand why I have weird dreams like these but usually writing them into a story helps me to remember them. I want to remember them so that I can look back and see what my mind was doing at the time.  What was the dream trying to tell me I wonder?

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