He stared at his hands, turning them, flexing. Such ordinary hands before today. How fragile is life, that its unlimited potential can be quelled by ten fingers. For the first time, he sees the intricate power of his hands. Years of study, dreaming of this day, all leading to this moment. Nothing could have prepared him for this feeling.He clenched his hands into fists and his knuckles blanched — seeming whiter against the dark blood. As he walked down the hall, his hands fell to his side. Crimson drops stained the floor at regular intervals in his wake.
Quick Fiction: Medic or Madman?