Photo Credits  – Google

The shiny blade slid up and down in perfect synchrony with the ebb and flow of classical music playing from two strategically placed surround speakers. Regardless of speed each cut drew blood, but if she noticed the flow she didn’t show it. Not once did she flinch as razor sharp steel cut through flesh. Her eyes had that glazed faraway look of daydreamers, although her lithe fingers held the metal resolutely as it did damage to her softness.

By the time the track was over four minutes and twenty seven seconds later, blood had pooled around her on the marble floor where she sat and her left arm from inner elbow to wrist looked like a random patch of zebra hide. Still she felt no pain, only anger and sadness and regret.

“David” she whispered after a while. “You did this to me. You! This is on you.”

The faint sound of her gentle breathing routinely punctuated the silence until she stretched a bloodstained hand and hit the rewind button on the remote controller, starting the song all over again. Then the pen knife shifted to her right hand, and the cutting resumed.

Much later, a shadowy form drifted away from her curtained window in the direction of its next victim. More rotund than when it first landed, it moved quickly for something of its size. The fifteenth night of March was always the reaper’s busiest.


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