Synthetic Flesh


An unshaded bulb oscillated above as Jared worked furiously in the dim basement light. Nearly faint from blood loss, he rinsed the gash in his left forearm with Old Crow Whiskey, soaking his makeshift tourniquet. Digging into a box labeled ‘Synthetic Flesh’, he pressed the skin-colored putty into his wound. A strange warmth passed through his body as the wound healed instantly. He grabbed his machete and returned upstairs.

About drewster55

This blog will not give you a shiny, full head of hair, but it will provide a glimpse into the mind of a 40-something male who has a penchant for family life, science, nursing, education, coffee, and pop culture.
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