Maxwell Stegner, originally from Ukiah, California, is a celebrated author and knife maker, now living in the Bay Area with his family. His debut novel, the first in the 'Behind the Curtain' trilogy, was a resounding success, sparking a passion for writing that continues to thrive. Maxwell's works, primarily in literary fiction, captivate readers with their immersive narratives and intricate world-building. His storytelling, much like his knife making, is a craft that requires patience, precision, and a keen eye for detail. As he continues his writing journey, Maxwell invites readers to join him in exploring the depths of human emotion and experience through his stories.
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CONSTRICTING FLESH
by
Maxwell Stegner
I shudder as my fingernails scrape against my skin, trying to alleviate the unbearable tightness that has enveloped me. Each pull brings a sharp, searing pain, but it is nothing compared to the suffocating sensation of my own flesh constricting around me. I watch in horrified fascination as thin streams of blood trickle down my arms, leaving a trail of crimson on the cold, concrete floor. The metallic scent fills my nostrils, mingling with the musty stench of decay that permeates this wretched cell.
As I claw at my flesh, tearing strips of skin away in desperate frenzy, a sickening realization dawns on me - I am trapped in this decaying body, a prison of my own making. The tightness only grows more intense with each passing moment, like a vice closing in on me with merciless determination. I can feel the tendons and sinews straining against the confines of my skin, threatening to snap at any moment.
A merging sense of dread and nausea washes over me as I continue to peel away at my flesh. The bloody mess pile at my feet is growing larger, a grotesque testament to my desperate attempts to escape this living prison. The stench of decaying meat now mingles with the metallic scent, making it nearly impossible to breathe.
As I frantically pick away at my skin, I can feel the muscles and organs shifting beneath the surface. They are clamoring for release, stretching and contracting in a desperate dance for freedom. I can hear their cries, like a chorus of wounded animals, pleading for me to let them go.
Despite the horrific nature of my actions, I can't stop. The tightness grows more unbearable by the second, and the thought of living another moment trapped in this living cage is unbearable. I claw at my torso now, tearing at my abdomen with savage determination. The blood gushes forth, painting the walls of my cell in a ghastly tableau of suffering. I can feel the pressure easing slightly as the skin parts, but the pain is unbearable.
I fall to my knees, gasping for air as I try to catch my breath. My chest feels as if it's about to burst, and the gnawing sensation of confinement is stronger than ever. I reach for my chest now, grasping at the flesh with both hands and peeling it back, reveling in the release of pressure.
The force of my actions sends me reeling backwards, and as I hit the ground, my vision goes blurry. I can feel the blood gushing out of me, but I don't care. All I want is to feel the weight of my skin lift off of me, to be free from this living prison
I struggle to move, my limbs feeling heavier by the second. I can feel the slick, sticky blood pooling around me, creating a gruesome, horrifying landscape. The walls of the cell are now stained with my blood, a macabre testament to my futile efforts to escape this living nightmare.
As I lie there, panting and gasping for air, I can hear the muffled sound of footsteps approaching. Panic surges through me, and I crawl away from the spreading pool of blood, desperate to erase any evidence of my grisly actions.
The door to the cell creaks open, and a guard steps in, looking at me with a mix of revulsion and concern. "What the hell happened here?" he asks, his voice echoing off the cold, damp walls.
I don't respond. My mind is reeling, trying to make sense of the events that have transpired. All I can do is stare blankly at the guard, my eyes wide with terror and despair.
The guard steps closer, his brows furrowed in confusion. "You're bleeding. A lot. What did you do?"
I can't speak. I can only point to the blood-stained walls, the mangled flesh and organs, and the pool of blood that still surrounds me.
The guard recoils, his eyes widening in horror. "Oh my God. You... you hurt yourself?"
I nod, my voice a hoarse whisper. "Tight. Too tight."
The guard's expression hardens, and he reaches for his radio. "Get a team in here. We need a medic, stat!"
I feel a wave of relief wash over me. Help is on the way. But as the guard's radio crackles to life, I can't help but think that the damage is already done.
The guard's voice echoes through the room as he speaks into his radio, his distress apparent in his tone. "We have a serious situation here. One of our inmates has... I don't even know what to call it. It's like he's been... I don't know. You need to get someone here fast."
I can hear the static from the radio, mingling with the sounds of footsteps as help rushes towards us. The footsteps grow louder, and I know that my secret will soon be exposed.
As the medic and the guards enter the cell, they're met with a sight that they'll never forget. My body is a grotesque display of self-mutilation, exposed organs and flesh twisted and mangled beyond recognition.
The medic recoils in horror, his training kicking in as he drops his medical bag and rushes over to me. "My God. What have you done to yourself?" he gasps, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own breathing.
I look up at him, my eyes pleading for help. "Too... too tight," I manage to choke out.
The medic's face twists into a mask of determination as he reaches for his medical bag, rummaging through it for anything that might help me. The guards stand by, their faces masked with terror and disbelief as they watch the scene unfold before them.
The room seems to spin around me, and I feel as though I'm slipping away into darkness. It's then when my vision blurs and I cease to exist.