Knives
She stared at her distorted reflection on the silvery blade. A tear-streaked face. Grotesque, nearly. The beautiful iridiscent gray swam before her eyes. It was so simple. The blade sighed in her hand, cold metal against her wrist. A gentle push would end it all, it spoke without malice, but voices in her head shouted obligations and responsibility. It was a coward's escape, and she knew this; but it was a coward's liberation, and she knew this as well. Frowning and bowing her head, she placed it gently and ever so carefully back in its nest between its brothers, whispering quiet promises to return again.soon.
