Jaundiced, by Ceinwen E Cariad Haydon

He flushed the cold syringe with sterilised water, drew the liquid from the vial, tapped the cylinder with his thickened, yellow nail, and stopped. This one. The last of so many. The street light pierced through the crack in his long brocade curtains, now thick with dust. The narrow beam illuminated the stainless steel and the glass of his apparatus. It made the contents appear viscous and cloudy. Instrument of torture or benign alchemy? It had been both. Its clean lines cut through the any doubt of his intent. This appliance was made for focussed application. He laid it down on the clean, white handkerchief on the arm of his sofa. He was almost ready. He unbuttoned his old army shirt to reveal an emaciated belly. Normally, he took care to alternate sides. Now it didn’t matter. He pressed a fold of scrawny skin together and turned to pick up the syringe with his left hand. His fingers, sheened with sweat, lost their grip. It fell and smashed to smithereens. A stain spread and darkened the jute mat at his feet. The moment had passed. What now?