In Dolor Veritas

by Robert Gryfft

He tugged at his transfixed wrist, and the scabbed ooze of his flesh twisted darkly against the nail. The smashed bones in his hand twitched as the metal scraped the ends of his severed tendons.

"You win," he rasped.

"Not yet," she said. She draped another fold of soggy newspaper across his wrinkled brow. "Soon, darling."