Chapter III: Contain and Confront
Heavy is the Blade
Aurora Ryder
It greets me like an old friend, fitting perfectly against the curve of my hand. It has a rough texture, grainy, like unsanded wood, but familiar enough that I do not notice. As it rests in my palm, my thumb finds the slight groove in the handle. It’s not rough here; it is smooth and well-sanded, cradling, and safe. Then comes the cold and unforgiving steel, as deadly as winter and just as harsh – and yet it feels smooth, soft, even. It’s as if I am running my hand across a frozen lake.
Suddenly, the ice collapses beneath me as my thumb finds the edge. Here it is dangerous and scraping, piercing as if made of tiny barbs. The texture is a warning not to tarry, for this is not my friend: this is a blade. I heed the warning and lift my thumb, feeling nothing but open air and a weight in my palm. The knife weighs no more than a glass, yet drags like an anchor.
I want to put it down.
