VIII(3)

I burrow my fingers in the dirt. I can feel larger pebbles under the surface. My bottle of hand sanitizer tingles in my pocket. I burrow them deeper. The earth is cooler, somewhat moist. I can feel the dirt soaking into my skin, and my hand sanitizer tickles. My palms enter the soil. An ant scurries by my hands, seeking sustainance for his queen. My hands are cooler now, while the rest of my body burns under the midday summer sun. The tiny bottle itches terribly in my pocket. My mind is a little cooler with my hands submerged. The bottle scratches a hole into my leg. As my hands burrow, so does the hand sanitizer, tearing away the flesh, sending its message to my brain. My hands are now elbow deep. My leg is on fire.
I put the knife on the bed next to her arm. Her tears have stopped and her pupils have dialated. I pull the bottle out of my pocket and apply a nickel-size portion onto my palm. I rub my hands together vigorously. I pick the blade back up and Kat clenches her eyes shut.