#171 Hanging On

The pain in his thumb was excruciating. It felt like a snow plow had run over it, scratched the flesh from bone, then left it pitifully attached. There was nothing he could do with it out here. There weren't doctors for miles. In the end, he wondered if it wouldn't be better to rip the remaining tendons from their anchors and release his thumb to lesser, scavenging mammals.

He bit down on his belt's rotten leather. He pulled. He screamed. He thought, in spite of himself, of the child's game with the magic, removable thumb. He thought of hanging on.

—2009-09-29 11:47:05