An Itch | Shigaraki Tomura

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The blue haired male scratched at his next, the fingers getting deeper every moment he scratched. It felt like something was in there.
"It's so itchy! Get it out get it out! Get the parasites out!" The skin broke and the nail marks from scratching pierced the skin and were dragged. It itched and itched yet it never went away.  The pain didn't set in either. The blue haired male screamed as he itched faster.
He killed several people, thinking it would stop the itch. It did.

Temporarily.

Every person he killed, the itch continued to be there. He scratched and scratched, killed and killed but to no prevail. The itch worsened, the sensation growing endless. There seemed to be no cure to this itch, no ailment, no violence, no anything. Consultation, medication, oils, nothing worked. All were useless. All he could do was satisfy his murderous needs. Shigaraki looked upon the sky and laughed at the pitiful hill of dust that was left on the floor. No empathy or sympathy for the pedestrians he killed. Shigaraki felt nothing for the person he killed, all he wanted was to satisfy his itch. His itch. Was it really just an "itch" ? Or had it been worse?
The last thing his victims would see would be his face. A darkly lit face that held a broken boy and the cold blooded smile of a murderer.

It's just an itch.

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