A flame ripped out the tip of one wrinkled finger – blue, searing, cooking skin and bone. By the time she’d rocked hard enough to get herself up out of the chair her whole back was ablaze. She screamed and fell to the floor, praying for mercy. Had the Devil come for her at last? No. He didn’t need to. The spark had ignited from within. She was her own destroyer. Guilt quickly combusted her own human flesh and clean melted her fat away, leaving a sad old junkie-nurse charred into the trap door of the floor – a door that hid tokens of her secret murders below: patients that had died innocently at her hands…

© kym darkly

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