Rosemary contorted into orgasmic euphoria each time the needle slid into her finger, blood droplets staining cloaks and cuffs of garments she’d sewn.
Mother forced a thimble on Rosemary’s finger.
“Thimbles protect your womanhood from the wiles of Men,” Mother testified.
Rosemary stood, fixed a thimble upon Mother’s finger, and slid a knife into Mother’s throat.
“It doesn't protect you from the wiles of the blade.”
The prompt for the Chimera 66 Challenge #6 at Grammar Ghoul Press is the noun "thimble": "a small cap, usually of metal, worn over the fingertip to protect it when pushing a needle through cloth in sewing" |