Day 60: Handle With Care
Write about a very fragile or delicate object.
"Did you know there were 27 bones in each hand?" She asked, smiling.
She was dressed head-to-toe in black; black button-up blouse, black blazer rolled up to the elbows, black pants cropped at the ankle and black ankle heeled booties. When she walked in to the room looking like that, that should've been his first clue. But it wasn't until she sat down and began talking that he noticed a detail of her outfit that filled his stomach with dread.
Her rubber-gloved hands lightly tapped the table between them. The blue of them stood out especially against her all-black outfit.
"I, uh, did not know that," he said, clearing his throat loudly.
She gave him another sweet smile. She was deceptively beautiful and serene. But he couldn't stop staring at the blue gloves on her hand.
"Hands, fingers, in general, are so delicate, right? Depending on the person, the skin can be tougher than the bones underneath!" She said. "Makes you kind of wonder why God would make such an important part of the human body so...fragile."
He was so focused on her gloved hand tapping on the table that he didn't see the other hand come down hard on his right wrist. Pain shot up his arm, as he shouted in painful surprise. Multiple hands gripped him and kept him from reeling backwards, holding him in place.
Her eyes took on a more sinister glint. "I usually like to start with the distal phalanges, the tips of your fingers but you seem like the jittery type so I have to incapacitate the lunate and scaphoid bones. Don't want you wriggling around making things messier." She laughed a little.
"Whaaat the fuck are you doing?" He shrieked. He almost pissed himself. Through the piercing pain, he saw now that her other hand was holding a small silver hammer, which was now hovering over his left hand.
"We can avoid doing my favorite parts of this process if you just answer one question. Can you do that?" She asked.
He shuddered and nodded.
"Good boy. Where's your brother? He owes my boss quite a lot of money and unfortunately has disappeared into the wind without paying him back," she said, any trace of that sweetness completely gone.
"My-my bro-brother and I don't speak. Haven't in a few months. We fe-fell out," he gasped out.
She pursed her lips. "I think you're lying to me."
Before he could say, "I'm NOT," the hammer came down.
His screams reverberated throughout the empty basement.
“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.”