What I Have To Do
By Six
You know what I like most about serrated knives? It's the way they tear through the skin, ripping it into fleshy chunks and they painfully pulling them away. Also, the vital juices flow immediately, filling into the cut, flooding it with crimson river of life essence. It's all red. Everything. I press the knife deeper, inhaling the rich smell that only comes from this type of thing. My hands are soon covered with the think liquids, but I don't care, it's what I have to do. It's all my dad's fault. All his fault. I'll be done with this in a minute. One more pitiless, unmerciful, minute. Sickening splats are heard as the gore falls onto the floor. Finally I'm done. It's all over. I can at last rest in peace.
"Dad!" I scream, "I cut up the tomato for you! I'm going to go to my room now!"
"Thank you, Matt. Sorry about not being able to do it myself, but my carpel tunnel was acting up agian." he responds.
And with that, I wash the juices off of my hands, put the kitchen knife in the sink, and walk to my room, glad that I was done with what I had to do.
Did I surprise you? I hope I did! If not.... oh well.... hehehe. Sorry.... I was doing the dishes and I cut my finger on a knife I thought was dull. I bitched and moaned until Mom said I could stop doing the dishes, so during break I typed this up. Hehehe. Tell me what you think. ; )