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    running with knives

    by , 12-05-2013 at 10:33 PM (1593 Views)
    running with knives

    I don't know where I am. Hiding in a bush.

    Someone tosses me two knives. Silver. Sharp. Curved, for killing.

    Execution he whispers. I peer from my bush. Everyone has knives. Knives 3 feet long, metallic swords for battle. Not for battle. For death. Knives for only one purpose.

    I look at the two knives in my hand - I see I am at a disadvantage. My knives are only the size of butcher knives. Sinisterly curved and sharp. The curvature beckons me to fight, I resist.

    He looks back down at me. You must flee before you're found, he says. I look up from my bush at their knives. They wave them around fast like ceiling fans. Spinning and chopping. Whirring and buzzing. Aerodynamic.

    I spring from my bush and run past the executioners with knives. I run through the town, the knives in my own hands zipping through the air, begging to puncture skin. I'm no longer running from the executioners, but from myself. The knives pleading.

    I run into a tattoo parlor. A man stands up, smiles, and says, "you, the girl with knives."

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