Left Hand

I stare down intently at the pages before me. My left hand continues jotting down furiously. It moves on its own - I have no control. I get a sharp cramp in my hand yet it does not stop. It cannot stop. Still continues to write, but now faster than before. The sweat drenches the very paper I am writing on, but it does not seem to bother my hand. My palm tears slightly. Drops of blood spatter on the paper. Finally my hand stops. It drops the worn-down pencil. (With my left hand) I pick up the many handwritten pages. Hundreds of them. I flip to the first page, and read.

The colour is absorbed out of my face, my body loses all feeling. What I am seeing before my eyes is that of pure evil ; a monstrosity. Page after page of vile, putrid, sadistic writing. This is the perfect form of evil.

I know no one else’s eyes should have to see it. It must be destroyed! I move my left hand towards the sweat and blood drenched sheets but it stops. It fights me. My hand again takes control of itself. As if it’s possessed. It grabs the index finger on my right hand and snaps it back, breaking the bone instantly. Unimaginable pain rushes through me. I scream in agony. Must fight it.

I grab the handle of the wooden drawer below me in my desk with my second and third fingers on my right hand. I struggle ; it opens. I reach my hand in (the pain growing worse and worse with each second) and grip a plastic handle. The handle of a five inch, stainless steel knife. My left hand sees it and grabs onto the handle as well.

There is only one thing I can do. I move my head in closer and sink my teeth into the back of the possessed hand. I can feel the arteries busting. Blood gushes out instantaneously and spills all over my legs, staining my faded gray jeans. My left hand loses grip of the handle and twitches in pain. With my right hand I raise the knife high in the air then send it down upon the wrist on my left arm. My only way is to physically separate myself from the hand of evil. The blade digs deeper and deeper into my wrist. I hit bone. I chisel the bone with the knife but to no avail. I drop the knife and grab onto my left wrist (my hand now dangling) with my right hand and twist it in a clockwise motion until it breaks off, and drops onto the floor. My former left hand spasms for several seconds. Then stops.

All is well. I relax in my chair, grab empty sheets of lined paper from my drawer and drop them on the desk. I push my hand into the desk, moving my index finger back in place. I grab a pencil and write. Only …I have no control.