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Weekly Contest #206
CRACK. Charles couldn’t tell if he heard the noise first, or, saw the wrist snapping. It must’ve been the sound because his brain couldn’t register what his eyes were seeing. Charles stood, rooted next to the massage table. The crimson-soaked rag in his hands fell to the floor, giving a tiny splat. He stared at a hand that was facing straight into the air, wrist bent at a ninety-degree angle. Fingers reaching for the sky. Almost quivering from pushing upwards so aggressively. Charles stumbled back, just a bit The crumpled towel was leaki...
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