Hungry and tired, the putrid smell of rotting flesh had become so pervasive that Rita wasn’t even sure it was there anymore. She hobbled along, her foot aching with each step. Porter had promised her he’d get her a healing balm, something that would cure the decay and give her back her leg. She just needed to make it to the chapel. Just a few more blocks and she’d be there, Porter would have the balm and this nightmare would be over.
The sweats at night were the worst, she’d worked out. She’d wake up after a night of tossing and turning soaked through to the bone, cold and shivering. Trying to do anything the next day with no sleep was almost impossible, decisions were hard to make, and she would have to watch the decay slowly crawl up her foot, her ankles and now up her shin.
Another block, and Rita could see the chapel appear behind a parked tram. The streetlamps were white in front of the holy site, compared to the warm yellow of the regulars.
Another step, and Rita fell to the floor. She looked down to her leg and pulled up her dress. The curse had spread to her thigh. Black, twisting sigils burned into her flesh, still crawling up her leg even now.
This is the last time I gamble with a witch, she thought, as she dragged herself across the cobble, the warm embrace of freedom within spitting distance.
Today's prompt: no sleep
If you'd like to participate too, the contest can be found here: @mariannewest/day-1574-5-minute-freewrite-friday-prompt-no-sleep