Image by Gerhard Janson from Pixabay
The Slice of a Blade
Trembling with giddiness and feverish with anticipation, I
wrap my fingers around the drawer handle. The metal is cool to my touch. The
drawer glides open. An army of razor edged stainless steel lies before me.
Smallest paring knives on the left up to the sleek chef’s knife and the king of
the drawer – the butcher knife - on the
right. My fingers hover over the butcher knife’s handle. No, tonight is not the night for you. Must restrain myself.
I grasp the 30 cm French-style chef’s knife’s handle and
lift it. Honed and sharpened to exquisite exactness, it is not heavy, but
well-balanced and rests in my palm with my fingers curled around the ebony
black grip. Experimentation has taught me a longer blade will allow a longer
single stroke. A longer single slice.
Longer.
Single.
Slice.
No more beautiful words exist.
Longer.
Single.
Slice.
I close my eyes and picture it sliding – s-l-o-w-l-y t-h-r-o-u-g-h. Perfection.
Casting a critical gaze over the blade, I check for the slightest
of imperfections which would dull the edge therefore marring sharpness and the
moment. A ray of light reflects off the sleek steel. Memories flit through my
mind of this knife’s edge effortlessly slipping through it’s prey. It is the
perfect choice. The event will be sublime.
I rip the knife through the air, imagining the smooth gashes
through It. My heart pulses in my chest. I spin and slash, spin and slash, spin
and slash. A high giggle bursts from my lips. Such joy.
Stop.
Restraint.
Respect the moment.
Respect the act.
Lowering my head, I close my eyes. A small bow to the
performance that is about to begin. I lift the knife, gripping with both hands.
Holding it before me, I press a small kiss on the bolster. A homage to the
beauty of this piece.
I glance back at It. Lying on the table, waiting. Waiting
for it’s moment to become the star of my performance. A concerto of cutting,
slashing and gouging. Screams would enhance the decadence of the moment. But
the walls are thin. Nosey ears listen.
I must remain calm. Savour the moment. That first slice. A
shiver slithers down my spine. I inhale, close my eyes and revel in the thrill
of anticipation. I pause. Forcing myself to wait. To enjoy. Don’t rush. Ease
into each action. Savour the sensations. Writhe in the bliss this act will
give.
The moment has come. I step closer to It then lift the blade
to my left and in one swift move slash across. The sensation of the knife
ripping through It filters up through my handle to my arm and to my brain. A
jolt of dopamine is released. Strength – confidence – joy – lust - power - surge
through me. I release the knife from where it lays buried in It - lift and
slash again.
And again.
And again.
Again.
Again.
It lays gutted. Open and exposed. I reach inside and grab at
the entrails. With wild abandon, I rip out handfuls. Grab. Rip. Toss. Grab.
Rip. Toss. Grabrip. Toss. Grabriptoss. Grabriptoss. Grabriptoss. Grabriptoss.
Sweat drips down my cheek. Loud gasps fill the void between
the heavings of my chest.
The entrails drip from my fingers, the chair, the table and
the edges of It.
It is beautiful. A masterpiece. My masterpiece.
It is so perfect.
It is perfection.
Trembles ripple through me. They build. The room sways.
Hysterical laughing erupts.
With reverence, I place the blade on a towel, knowing it
will be lovingly cleaned after It has been properly looked after.
I turn, once more to look at my masterpiece. Tears of joy
stream down my cheeks at the beauty. I am struck numb by it. I know not how
long I will stay here gazing at It. I want this moment never to end.
But it must.
The freezer lid drops with a solid thud. Orgasmic relief floods
through me. Another carving. A smile hints at the corner of my mouth as I walk
back upstairs. No one knows. No one suspects.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Join my Author Group - Daryl Devore's Musings
3 ways - FB, MeWe or I can email you.
Free ebook for those who join.
https://www.facebook.com/groups/738845900663510
https://mewe.com/join/daryldevoresmusing
