Burning Fingers


I touch my burning fingers to my face.

They glow red with shredded nails, cracked skin, and bleeding cuts.

Painful throbbing spreads from my fingertips to my knuckles, generating a warmth that radiates from my fingers.

But it is not warmth.

It becomes a red-hot fire, creating permanent crimson rings around the frail tips of my fingers.


Crimson rings surround me.

The crown I wear is a red halo of agony that shines a pale red light over all the things I do.

My scarred, nail-bitten fingers become the center of my body, painful and controlling, like my mind controls my body, but my fingers control both my mind and my body.

My fingers raise to my mouth, pleading to be destroyed, while my mind screams in muffled whispers to turn away before it's too late.


But it is too late.

My fingers have been engulfed in flames.


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