Monster

The monster had a scab on his foot. He made it himself by prodding an itch with his sharp and unkempt toenail. The more he irritated the itch, the more it bothered him. The more it bothered, the more he itched. Finally what was a blotchy bug bite turned into a festering flesh wound. He sat and stared at the pink, wet and raw skin. Flies competed for access to the wound. A mini dog pile they made on top of the hole. They fought for control of whatever juices were excreted. One would squeeze into the pile and displace another; batting wings and frantic attempts at the pile indicated their distress.