The devil in red

Pins and needles, pricks imagined. Skin inflamed by an unforgivable source. Why am I tormented so? For disobedience of course. I dared to indulge instead of trusting that a myth could shelter me from harm. Now I dig my nails deep into my skin in an effort to scratch the red bumps off my arm. I am not crazy, just insane with an unquenchable itch. No amount of cream can repair the damage done, and I find it a bitch. It is my penance to suffer for my sin. I promise never to be seduced by a strawberry again.