“You severed a limb?” the patrol officer asked, his face shaken with rage, fear and disgust. The distinct shape of an arm could be made out even when they were still meters away from the plastic bag slightly swaying in the evening air. A chill went down his spine. No one for miles around, it was as though the arm belonged to this forlorn empty place.
The man grinned and twisted the officer’s arm even more so that he winced. “Not just any limb,” he whispered into his ear, his voice soft and melodic. “It’s your wife’s arm. A one-armed cripple now, still hanging on for dear life. Now will you do what I’m asking of you?”
Friday Fictioneers, 11 March 2016
Photo prompt provided by Emmy L Gant