“Oh no, no – I’m sure there’s no need for that, doctor. Can’t you just give me some stronger painkillers? I’m sure something with a bit more clout will soon sort me out.”
“I think the hospital would probably prefer it if I didn’t, so they can see your symptoms without the effects of any medication. I’m sure they’ll give you something stronger once they’ve had a look at you.” She reached into her bag for her mobile, “Are you able to pack a few overnight things while I ring for an ambulance?”
“No!” The old woman was clearly very agitated, “No ambulance – I’m not going to the hospital. Just give me some more powerful tablets. Please, doctor - that’s all I need.”
Doctor Bond ignored her patient’s pleas and dialled the number.
“I said, NO!”
Margaret’s hand flew towards the doctor once more, slapping the mobile phone against her cheek, splitting the lip at the corner of her mouth. A tiny droplet of blood fell to the carpet and was immediately drawn through pile into the floorboards beneath.
BLOOD!
Both women heard the voice but it was only Margaret who felt it. The word resonated deep within her, vibrating in alignment with the pounding in her head. The elderly widow heard it, felt it and understood it – a command that promised retribution against all those who ignored her wishes: those who had told her to sell her old home and move to this blessed apartment; those who treated her like an imbecile because of a few wrinkles and rheumy eyes; and those like the doctor in front of her who wanted to pack her off to hospital despite the force of her opposition…
As she looked around the room for the source of the voice, wiping her mouth with the back of a hand, Dr Bond barely registered the knitting needle as it flashed through the corner of her vision. The steel point easily punctured the side of her neck, a gush of blood spurting from the wound as Margaret yanked it out and attacked again. This second assault went deeper, the needle piercing the physician’s spinal cord. The doctor tried to stand, to move from her patients reach, but her right leg refused to obey the commands from her brain. She fell to the floor, her entire right side paralysed and useless as the old woman fell upon her, her face a savage mask of fury.
The medic’s screams were stifled as the steel point pierced her throat, deep red blood gurgling in her larynx. The carpet around the prone body was saturated as the younger woman’s life-force gushed freely from her wounds, the wooden boards beneath greedily soaking up the warm fluid through the thick pile.
As the doctor stared, wide eyed and helpless, at her attacker, Margaret suddenly recalled the agony of the penlight.
Let’s see how she likes a light in her eyes…
The widow grabbed the phallic table-lamp and smashed it against the edge of the coffee table, shattering the delicate shade into myriad rainbow splinters. The bulb smashed along with the shade, the filament exposed within a crown of jagged glass shards.
The doctor let out a liquid scream, blood pumping from the holes in her throat as Margaret thrust the lamp into the helpless woman’s right eye. She twisted the polished wooden stem as she pushed, gouging deep into the gelatinous eyeball.
She flicked on the switch.
The physician shook and bucked as the current arced across her eye, boiling the vitreous fluids, the bloodied orb suddenly exploding under the pressure at the trip-switch in the fuse box clicked over, cutting the electricity supply.
The widow held the dead lamp down at her side as she gazed at the equally lifeless woman on her living room floor, her right eye now nothing more than a scorched pulp, oozing blood and thick fluid over her cheek where the skin around the socket was black and swollen. Margaret breathed heavily, her lungs filling with the slaughter-scented air. Her heart hammered behind her ribs and her skin was flushed and slickened with a sheen of perspiration.
She felt good. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so energised - so alive.
She also felt something else that she thought had been consigned to the past…
Wet.
When her menopause kicked in, almost two decades ago, she had used various lubes and hormone creams to allow herself and Robin to continue enjoying their sex life, but since her husband’s passing, she had allowed her vaginal walls to wither and atrophy as nature intended. But now, she could feel the moist heat between her legs, the swelling of blood-plumped labia, and, as she stroked the smooth stem of the lamp, the motions of her hand becoming firmer and more deliberate, she was overcome with the urge to…
FUCK IT!
The language was pure filth to her ears but the syllables of the sewer only served to amplify her desire. She hastily discarded her dressing gown, nightdress and underwear, running her bony fingers between her thighs, luxuriating in the warm wetness she found there. As if the sex hormones coursing through her blood had turned her body-clock back by fifty years, Margaret squatted like a twenty year old, positioning the bulb holder on top of the lamp between her legs. Oblivious to the gore encrusted remnants of filament and broken glass, she lowered herself down and greedily took in all the length she could handle.
Staring at her wedding photo, her eyes fixated on the face of her departed husband, she rode the wooden phallus. Memories of their honeymoon flooded her mind as liquid pleasure mixed with blood flooded her vagina. So lost was she in her memories of Robin, so swamped in the waves of the orgasm building inside her that she failed to hear the click as the trip-switch in the fuse box
