From The One-Minute Writer:
Write a brief piece of fiction using the prompt: Sharp.
Sharp.
Was it sharp enough?
He drew it along his thumb and was fascinated by the red pearl that welled up underneath the glittering blade.
That was sharp. He didn’t feel any pain from the cut.
At least, he didn’t think there was.
Holding out his index finger he placed the blade against the pad and drew the blade smoothly across.
No. There wasn’t pain.
He smiled.
Baring his wrist, he watched as the thick, blue vein pulsed just beneath the skin. He allowed himself a moment to drift as he watched the vein pulse, and for a moment, just a very brief moment, he forgot about everything. When he was sure he could think of nothing but that vein and the blood that it held, he drew the blade across it.
Oh!
Good God help me!
That hurts! It really, fucking hurts!
Then he saw the blood. It wasn’t like the slowly, almost prettily oozing pearls upon his thumb and index finger. This was a wash of blood that spilled over the edge of the white porcelain sink and onto the cold, white, tiled floor.
It was obscene.
Never had he ever seen something so terrible, and yet, as much as it hurt, as much as it was horrible, he could not take his eyes away or do anything to stop it.
And then the wash became the trickle he’d expected. A dribble, actually. And, it didn’t really hurt all that much anymore. He just felt… sleepy.
When had he joined the pool upon the tiled floor?
Gary’s going to be so mad about this mess.
His words were slurred, but he didn’t know it. He closed his eyes, telling himself he’d feel much better after a short nap.
. . .
The blade was very sharp.
