Morbid Habit
The hands were warm. Soft fingers, but flesh inflected with iron. Squeezing. The tongue lolled and protruded from the mouth. Vertebrae fragmented, one, two, three, until finally the hands relaxed and the limp body slid from their embrace.
Blood turned to ice and sealed the nostrils.
It’s the week before Christmas. Catherine Berlin sits alone gazing at a bank of monitors, each capturing a slice of ...
The hands were warm. Soft fingers, but flesh inflected with iron. Squeezing. The tongue lolled and protruded from the mouth. Vertebrae fragmented, one, two, three, until finally the hands relaxed and the limp body slid from their embrace.
Blood turned to ice and sealed the nostrils.
It’s the week before Christmas. Catherine Berlin sits alone gazing at a bank of monitors, each capturing a slice of ...
