Six sentences for Sunday, June 21:
It began in the middle of her back.
Sometimes by the end of the day, every inch of her seemed to itch: her shoulders, her scalp, the little nascent hairs on the backs of her arms. She itched from fatigue—from the desire to be done with the day—and usually her problem could be remedied with blunt fingernails or, at worst, a back scratcher.
The itch she felt on this particular evening was like that ordinary sort of itch, but more so. It seemed to emanate from deep under her skin and to pervade every surface, every crevice. Even her eyelashes itched.