Steel Blade

Opening the silverware draw, I stare down at the large variety of silvery knives. Some are dull and useless, while others shine dangerously. Finally I find one that’s perfect. Its wooden handle proudly displays a long piece of steel, sharpened to perfection. I touch its ridged edge and a small tremor of pain shoots through my fingertip. I smile. It is perfect.

Slipping it against my arm, I casually walk back to my room. There I lovingly caress my treasure. Finally, it is time to commence what I have been waiting for. I pull the sleeve of my sweatshirt up to my elbow, exposing the pink flesh of my wrist. Gently, I place my treasure against the tender skin, pressing down ever so slightly. I can feel the deep ridges prick the overlapping scars that permanently brand my arm. With one great shuddering breath, I start the procedure. Slowly, I pull the blade across my skin, pressing down harder with each stroke. The steeled ridges catch on my flesh, ripping it from side to side. I wince as I feel the first real cut, stinging against the cold of the blade. My strokes become faster, and harder, retracing its steps like a saw. In fact, I envision it. Sawing off my hand, to leave a bloodied stump. The thought only makes me press down harder.

Small beads of blood ooze out from the deepest part of the cut, smearing each time the blade passes over it. The pain becomes a throbbing sting that sharpens with each pass. Once again, I press harder, this time emitting a small gasp of pain. The real blood starts to flow. It drips down my arm in thickening rivers, leaving behind trails of crimson. I stop and let out my breath. The knife is smeared with my blood, the ridges cruely displaying its power. I look down at the cut and smile.

It is bigger then usual, and deeper. Maybe if I had cut a little more I could have opened a vein, and really bled. I wish I had. To see the blood flow and cleanse myself. To release the anger and pain that is forced up inside of me. For even just a few minutes, I am pain free. As long as the blood flows I am calm and I can breathe. Breathe the air of life instead of the polluted air of that which is around me. I put the knife down and pull my sleeve back over my arm. Tomorrow I will cut deeper, and the blood will be fresher. I smile.

By BleedingRegret

Rip. Me. Apart. Till. I. BLEED.