Splinters from yesterday


I woke up this morning with a splinter in my thumb. Probably got it while I was stumbling around for one taste more than I needed.

Deep.

Like a ship run straight aground, instead of crashing and breaking against the rocks. It hurts, and I know it will be a chore if I am too hasty with the extraction.

The world outside is a muffled grey as I strain to get a better look. I hop out of bed and head to the kitchen sink. The pull chain for the light always sticks this time of year and illuminated the area with a crashing thud against the ceiling.

I squeeze the sore spot hard because I am channeling the rage that the light is inducing on my hangover. The harsh buzz of the bulb against the clacking of the chain on the glass was enough to not feel the pain and focus on the problem. This thing was coming out, now. I head out into the shop and pull out a leather needle. I step outside to get a bit more light. The grey sky was not only heart broken but it grew cold like a lover shamed in public many years ago. Only grief and madness could make a day so dreary. What terrible sin has been done to warrent such a terrible sky.

I poked at the wound slowly chipping away at the layers of skin. Blood starts to pop up from the ever expanding whole on my hand. I wipe the blood from my finger and I now notice my pants covered in black patches, sticky to the touch. No where to wipe the blood because I was covered in blood. I began to scream, and I screamed until I passed out. Then when I woke I would scream until I passed out. For three days, all I did was scream.

She was gone.

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