A dead fingernail SCRAPES, SCRAPES, SCRAPES against the smooth surface of a mug gripped tight by cold hands. The liquid inside was long gone, replaced instead by a long string of drool idly pooling at the bottom.
The faint scent of something strong wafts up into a bloody nostril. The form sniffs and winces, doubling over in pain. A hand leaves the sanctuary of the mug and grips hard on the counter to steady the body nearly slumped over it.
Slow, ragged breaths are torn from weak and tired lungs. A pained inhale and a mournful exhale. Chipped teeth bare open in protest against the searing pain, nearly growling.
Footsteps sound from behind a closed door. A pair of bloodshot eyes drift over to it in silent expectation.
The knob turns. And he walks in, holding a hot mug of something in one hand and a pastry in the other. He frowns when he sees them. The frown dissolving into a narrow look after a minute or two of them just staring at each other.
He raises a brow. “Are you done overreacting?” he says, closing the door with the tip of his shoe. He takes a bite from the pastry.
The form looks at him a moment longer, shrugs, and then makes grabbing motions for his mug. He sighs and gives it to them, shaking his head all the while.
|Originally written: February 25, 2022
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Choice Cuts
Short StorySweetest Decay, Series 1 A collection of my short stories I first published in my writing blog, Sweet Decay.
