Not so simple

It was just a simple butcher knife.

Nothing more to most peoples eyes, nothing more than just a razor sharp cutting device used for cutting meat. As I have quoted before, to “Most” people it is nothing more to people than a cutting device, to me though, it is used for a completely different reason all together. Yes, in all terms it is still used for “cutting” but not for the same reason. To me it is a crude device, used only when wanting to take away bitter feelings of guilt and wickedness.

When I used it the first time, I felt as if the sickening pain embracing my body was slowly numbing the self blame that was savoringly burning my heart into flaky white embers. I believed the only one way path out of this murky puddle of grief and ruefulness was in fact through this “Not so simple knife”. Sometimes during my appointments with this knife, I would cry, thinking 'why can't there be another way out?' Regrettably, life in my shoes was not all that fortunate to me.

Today is another one of those days, when I just feel the need to pick up the blade of so called “forgiveness” and make another mark, just to once again let all the pain seep out. I walk slowly to the kitchen and over to the unkempt counters, where the blade is nestled safely in the hold of other utensils hugging it tightly in a rusting bowl. Picking it up and grasping it tightly in my hands covered with layers of cold sweat, apprehension is running a million miles in my heart, while a tiny whispering voice inside the thickly covered part in my mind tells me to just drop it and go back to my unmade bed. Ignoring the pleading voice, I bring it over to my already scarring wrist, both dreading and looking forward to the sickening pain. I take a deep breath, and draw it over the first layer of my skin, so far so good. Then I press it harder, making it sever my skin, creating little drops of blood resting in the creases of my arm. Feeling the need to make more pain I press harder and harder until a tidal wave of pain washes over me, flooding my senses. Now unaware of my actions it goes deeper, creating a burning sensation deep within myself, bleeding more than I have ever had. Finally I drop the knife to the ground, and sit myself on the soiled tiles. Holding my throbbing wrist in one hand, I covered my face with the other, letting out small whimpers. Two hours later my arm is bandaged up and I am sitting on the couch with watching TV, acting like nothing has happened. I think you know but you don't mention it.

It was just a simple butcher knife, that turned out to be not so simple.

A/N

Thia was actually a school project and I was writing about peer pressure. Every group got a line and each of the students in that group had to take that line and make it into something about peer pressure. I got the line, “It was just a simple butcher knife.”

Well, hope you guys liked it...it was kinda gross... See you guys next time

godchild