...my hand
closes on smooth metal. my fingers test the sharpness of the edge.
Perfect. It's a fresh blade.
The girls' voices rustle in her head. Their clamoring pushes
out all rational thought. She rolls up her sleeve.
The bite of the blade kills the noise. It wipes out the memory of
those staring faces. I looks at my arm, at the life springing from
me. Tiny pinpricks of red that blossom into giant
pennies.....