Lights hummed, arbitrary 2am artificial neons.
He created a work of art, beautiful neat stitches on porcelaine skin. A simple scar from larynx to pelvis.
So young, so beautiful, what a waste.
Rolling down gloves, inhaling the scent of latex, and throwing everything in the voluminous yellow box he sighed.
Sharps – do not handle.
Posted in response to #55worder prompt over at Geth’s place