A 100-word story by Gillian Church
Eventually, pain overrides everything else. Unthinkable acts become beacons of salvation.
“It’s not going to break on its own,” said the witch. “Stop fighting your instincts.”
I couldn’t bear another night of this fever’s grip—the ferocious aches crawling through my muscles, my pounding head, the bone-deep chills that set my teeth chattering like a wind-up toy.
It would be so easy to just end it, I thought. Eventually, pain overrides everything else. Unthinkable acts become beacons of salvation.
“I can’t go on like this,” I whispered to his sleeping form. “I’m so sorry.” I sliced his jugular as she’d instructed, drinking long and deep until the fever finally loosened its hold.