Graphic Writing - Eithne King

His skin began to prickle with a neat intensity; every inch of his body tingled at once. Collapsing, the man fell to his knees, watching his own flesh blister and seethe with a furious agony. Every muscle he had convulsed and tensed as his cells began to combust underneath his torrid skin. Smoke vapours spilled from his pores; a rasping sound escaped his arid throat. Quivering on the floor his white shirt fibres clung desperately to his feeble frame. Lacerations began to appear; jaggedly scoring slits across his taught body, dark pools of his curdling blood stained the ground beneath his writhing mass. Swollen capillaries flared angrily; threatening to burst forth. Everything inside of him blazed irately. Incensed with the alien technology that proffered such a brutal demise.

Wretched and scarred, the corpse jerked in a paroxysm of movement, the thud of his limbs connecting with the ground echoed dully. His skull swayed eerily as his body finally fell into a crumpled heap, motionless. Terror still etched upon his grotesquely distorted features.