How kind of it
Tw for slight gore/unpleasantness
First time posting my writing online so please be gentle and any feedback is appreciated!!
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The needle bore into my flesh in an instant. How kind of it to stray from my nail, leaving it unshattered as I bleed.
A scream pours out of me but no one can hear me in these cement walls.
Tears streaming down my face as it contorts in agony, I search for my phone.
It’s almost funny how you forget yourself as your flesh pulls, keeping you in place.
Where is it?
I feel moisture build up on my face as I writhe.
I pull back the covers with my free hand and find my saving grace buried in all the rubbish I had piled on the bed.
My hands are shaking, I can barely find her contact.
I dial my mom’s phone, sobbing, begging for her to be awake.
The dial tone hums briefly before she picks up.
“Momma..”
I’m sobbing so much I can’t get another word out.
I hear her voice, frantic as she yells to my father over the line.
I’m so in awe of my own stupidity to make sense of what she’s saying
I hear thundering steps approaching.
As they barge in I’m less concerned by the needle and machine holding my flesh captive, but more of that this night I choose to only wear a tshirt and underwear while sewing.
My cheeks burst with warmth as embarrassment floods into me.
I cover my thighs as fast as my body allows.
My mother’s frantic, she doesn’t have a clue what to do.
Thankfully my father recently followed me into this hobby, he knew exactly how to manipulate the needle as he carefully raises it above my bleeding finger.
There I sit sobbing as I cradle my mutilated finger.
All I can say is “at least it didn’t shatter my nail. How kind of it.”
How kind of it.