The severed hand...



She was down. And I couldn't help but gawk at the hand [her severed hand] that still appeared to tremble: but it couldn't have {not like a chicken without its head}.

It was turning cold [grey, in fact] as the pulse weakened in the wrist and there was no more blood flowing to the fingers. 

My eyes flicked over the bone (jutting out from the wrist). I could see the vessels. Her favourite blue nail polish remained.


Mary-Ann wouldn't purposely become embroiled in this. But how well did we really know Bill [and what he was capable of].

Bill's expression was motionless. The shock was starting to mutate into  fear. But I had to know: "Why? Wha...Bill?"

His head turned slowly towards me and I began to shake (I tried to keep control, but I couldn't suppress it) and he stared directly at me [grinning like a fool]. He said: " What a mess...


The End

2 comments about this story Feed