Amputation

I look at my severed finger on the floor, then to the jigsaw. I see the blood, then I look at my hand. It finally comes together. My project for Jimmy, a quick bench for his backyard, claimed my digit.

Cup of ice.

I plant my finger like a seedling.

9-1-1.

While I wait, I watch the cup. I don’t know why, but it was better than looking at my hand.

Blood dripped from the bandage.

It was a slight comfort to watch it, I supposed. How abstract, to see a part of you physically elsewhere. I had nightmares about this kind of stuff as a kid.

Should I unlock the door, in case I pass out?

I peer from the window. Nothing yet. With the door open, I can hear faint sirens…or am I faint?

I start back to my seat in front of my finger. As I approach, I see a small green stem sprouting from the top of my nail bed. The room goes dark as I fall to the floor.

 

THE END

 

Copyright WB Welch – All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:

Happy Wednesday to you all. I have signed up to be part of Blogtober this fall, which means I will be putting out daily blog posts. This is the most email my subscribers will ever receive from me. I hope it’s not too much of a burden to your inbox. Thanks for sticking with me. Enjoy your Blogtober scary shorts!

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