Waiting for You

A monster lurks in the shadows. It waits, patient as ever. You tense, flex, sense something is amiss. Scratch your head. Flip your hair. An earwig? A spider? No. That would be too simple, too easy to fix.
Your vision slides, turning your world darker. Strange shadows flicker where once they never existed. A filmy haze spills over your hands. You try to wipe it away, scratching your hands raw. The sludge never fades.
The itch is back. Echoes follow. They beat time against your ear drums, the thump thump forever pulsing, parading through your mind. Pains stab your forehead, overwhelming. Invisible blood drips down your pale, drawn face. The spinal cord is liquefying. Leaks increase, a constant trickle. Your brain sinks into oblivion, the tumour leading the way.