Chocolate on my Finger

One of my students who came in late told me that I had "chocolate or something" on my finger. No, that's a distorted hunk of flesh that was once part of my finger.

Prior to the chicken pox discovery, when I was putting on Devilboy's shoes, he kicked my finger, breaking it open again. A flap of skin now sticks straight out and is crusted over with blackened blood, like a beetle shell.

It doesn't hurt at all but looks disgusting.