In John’s Hands

His long, slender fingers gripped the blade tightly. One small movement was all that would be required to cause an unrelenting and fatal outpouring of blood. It was with this idea that John was concerned with; obsessed with, even.

It was in his control to prevent such a movement, but could he be trusted? Could his mind be up for the task? His breath came in unsteady and uncontrolled rhythms, spasms. In his chest, his heart beat faster and faster, like a drum roll that would lead to a terrible and gruesome finale.

He gripped the blade tighter and forced his blurry eyes to focus. His thoughts went to the other day, when he had first met the guy that now lay before him. Kevin was a man with a family that he loved deeply; a man who had worked his whole life, only to meet a terrible fate, of which John was now in control of.

As he stood over Kevin, on the brink of insanity, John had a realization. This was not a situation in which he had to think. If he so desired, he could dismiss the notion that Kevin had a family at all. No, Kevin was not a loving man who so desperately clung to life. Kevin was just a body; a piece of flesh for John to get his practice.

It was with this fresh and renewing thought that John proceeded. He lowered his hand with control and precision and made a long slice down the middle, from chest to abdomen. The blade parted the skin effortlessly and John saved a life that night.


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