Running The Blade

I took the knife from the chopping board
The black handle with the stainless steel lining appealed to me
I walked over to the brown chopping board
And pulled it out as if pulling out a sword from it’s sheath

Once it was out I slowly turned the blade back and forth
So I could see examine both sides of the edge
Then I caught a reflection from the ceiling lights
And ran the reflection right across and off the blade

Then I walked down the hallway towards the lounge
I was wearing a grey shirt that was completely unbuttoned
A white “wife beater” vest and a pair of jeans
And had my black dyed hair tucked behind my ears

When I reached the far left chair in the lounge
I sat and rolled up the sleeve of my left arm
Saw the scabs of the previous cuts healing over
Saw the orange fake tan flakes crusting around the scabs

I stared for a while and then cleaned them up
Picking the dead bits of skin from my arm
Then rubbing my middle finger across the cuts
As if brushing away rubber shavings from a piece of paper

The room was dimly lit and large
And as I sat in the far left chair I felt as in a movie
In the big ol’ empty country house
Something sinister is about to happen

Like in those movies that begin with a house shot
Then lighting crackles over the house and the trees sway
The camera pans round to a dimly lit window
And all you can see is a chair and the top of someone’s head

Once I was comfortable I straightened out my arm
Flattened the outer part of my wrist to the armrest
Then I picked up the knife from the opposite armrest
And thought for a moment about whether or not this was a good choice to make