He sat in the lamp-lit kitchen waiting.
He’d made a cup of tea for her; a morning ritual after her long night at work.
Worry increased as daylight appeared.
“It’s hauntingly dark,” she heard a voice from behind her say.
She found herself being shoved against her car.
“How come you’re out so late, honey? What do you do?”
Her hand slashed the silver blade across his throat.
Gurgles of blood oozed while he shrieked.
Inside the car, she flung the scalpel onto the floor.
As she drove away, she watched his writhing body.
“I’m a surgeon,” she said.
2016©Isadora De La Vega
Genre: Flash Fiction
Word Count: 100
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