Black Short Stories : Idle Hands

Discussion in 'Short Stories - Authors - Writing' started by MsInterpret, Jun 26, 2013.

  1. MsInterpret

    MsInterpret Well-Known Member MEMBER

    Apr 21, 2007
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    by MsInterpret
    There was this longing inside of Sandra's hands. Her hands felt nervous, yet powerful. Day after day the feeling became more overwhelming. Some days she would run her hands under cold water to calm the nerves. Sweaty and clammy they would tingle with anxiousness. She could feel her heart beat fast in the palm of her hand.

    At night she would lie with her hands underneath the pillow. She squeezed as tight as she could to release the pressure built inside, but it wasn't enough to subside the desire to squeeze something else.

    Sandra cried and screamed out loud and wanted so bad to do what was festering inside of her mind and controlling her hands. She punched walls, threw things, pulled her hair so hair it bled. Nothing was stopping the sensation, it grew the more she resisted.

    All alone in the darkness of her room, Sandra sat quietly as she stared down at her hands. Tear drops drenching her fingertips as the quivered in the blackness. Smearing her face with her tears, she smiled. It had been a long time since she had smiled.

    Getting up and walking to the kitchen, Sandra opened a drawer and pulled out a knife. The metal glistened in the moonlight that streamed through the blinds. She drew in a long breath and exhaled as she ran her finger against the edge of the blade. Oops, she drew just a little bit of blood and licked her finger sensually. It felt good and tasted divine.

    Sandra closed the drawer, with the knife in hand slipped into her slippers, threw on her robe and opened the front door. Then turned and smiled. It's time to put these idle hands to work.