But alas! I shall post my response here. Today. Right now. Just a sec', I need to refill my coffee . . . .
Okay, here goes.
In the darkness was a hand
And in the hand was a knife.
Her knuckles curled and shifted as the flat side of the blade slowly bumped against them, slicing down and lifting again—bump, slice, lift, shift; bump, slice, lift shift; bump, slice, lift, shift.She carved delicately, protecting her own flesh first.She surprised herself at how well she was catching on to the tasks that had once been familiar to hand and eye.
Now, only her hands saw.
Last night, her ears had heard and her nose had sniffed—expensive cologne, aftershave, hair tonic.
In the darkness, her hands searched.
Her feet ran, feeling carpet give way to linoleum. Her hands saw knobs and pulled. Her ears heard metal and plastic and wood shift against each other. Her ears heard the soft treading of a monster.
Her hands saw the knife and gripped it.
Carpet gave way to linoleum and soft treading gave way to gentle pressing.
Her hands hid the knife.
A shadow crossed over her and a heat oppressed her.
Her hands and knife sought, saw, and made their mark--
I can take and I appreciate criticism. Now that I've offered my work, can we have a writer's conversation? See you soon . . .!