The lights flicker above me, staring at the ceiling while picking out mysterious red and brown stains on the tiles.
If only I knew where they came from.
Machines whir around the metal table I'm lying on, gears clicking and liquid bubbling. Mechanics meant to keep a corpse warm.
"Could we get a drip going on her please?"
The table's paper crinkles under my hands, taking in a deep breath. Heather stalks over with curvy hips, pulling along with her a small needle attached to an IV. Basically a bag attached to a pole on wheels. She plugs the needle to a PIDD line, squeezing the drug-filled bag briefly. A cold feeling crawls up from my elbow joint, relaxing my muscles as it goes. My heartbeat changes from its rabbits pace to that of a turtle. My lungs deflate in a slow breath, blinking hard against the fire it lights in my veins.
"Alright Avril," another surgeon says above me, covering my face with a mask.
"Count back from 10 for me."
I grimace at the stale gas filtering through, eyelashes fluttering from the wave of exhaustion that follows.
"10....9..8........7.."
The floor falls out from below me, leaving an empty, inky void.
♡♡♡
YOU ARE READING
A Porcelain ♡
HorrorA normal human ♡ might be described as a forest. So maybe you assume it's noisy and full of life. Now picture this: a silent city block devoid of much else besides slugs and mosquitos. That's my ♡.
