Prompt: mutating burn scars

Theme: creep and horror

Words: 274

He woke up with the beginnings of third-degree burns. He couldn't see them, but he felt them. By early evening patches of red had oozed across his body.

The next day his burns had spread, the red grown more pronounced; his mouth had scabbed over and his eyes, usually aglow with enthusiasm, were dead in his skull. He couldn't be touched and he could barely eat.

Stage three brought a hospital-trip. He was misdiagnosed. The burns faded slightly before gaining ground quicker than ever before, devouring his small body like wildfire.

Another visit to the hospital, another doctor, another misdiagnosis. His face was crusted and bleeding, his very skin wept. He looked like a dead thing, inside and out. He couldn't eat, barely drank; the creams meant to help left him screaming and writhing on the floor. Painkillers were powerless to help, and sleep eluded him.

He needed the hospital, but the hospital thought otherwise.

A dreadful week passed. He hurt to look at. One glance, and you wanted desperately to hug him, but knew if you even suggested it a tearful, frantic, panic would ensue. You used to be able to wrestle with him, toss him around, throw him over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes; now the burns kept you from even patting him.

At last he had an appointment with his own doctor, and this doctor weighed the evidence correctly. These antibiotics helped, and though the crusty, weeping, bleeding skin that had taken over his entire face fought with all its might, it too faded and healed. But it was a long time before he would consent to hugs again.