Touch

I knew I was going to be the second to last person. Suspense was burning inside me like those burgers left on the grill too long. The reactions people had to the substance they touched were scarabs, burrowing through my mind and driving me crazy. I waited, patiently, knowing I would have to come to my demise and feel it eventually. It approached me and Diana took my hand and placed it into a hard casing, maybe a jar of sorts. At first I thought the jar was what I felt, but I was quickly mistaken. The substance was cold, but gelatinous like a week old dead hamster. Is stayed on my hand after I took it out. It was wet, sticky, uncomfortable. As I washed my hand, removing the red substance relief went over me like a spray of water on a hot day. The experience was nothing special, like lunch at 12:00 or sleeping at 12:00.