storiessylviane (storiessylviane) wrote,
storiessylviane
storiessylviane

Original story: The knife

The Knife

By Marea67
About
: 'me'
Disclaimer: Mine. Don't touch!
Summary: Someone's having a really bad day.
Disclaimer: This story is, to my knowledge, not based on real events, all persons appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

*****

There was once this wonderful conversation between toveb and me on Twitter.

T- Get back home, settle in by the computer for work, go into kitchen and nearly impale myself on the bread knife

Me - Well, as long as there was no psycho (or angry ghost) attached to the bread knife, you'll be fine. ;)

T - Phew! And wouldn't that have been a bit of an embarrassing way to die?

Me - Where would the knife have ended up, Now I have a NEED to know. :P

T - Maybe it was more a question of what I was wearing...! (Bad joke.)

Me - (thinking outloud, scarring the cat half to death) Should I ask? Or should I just keep wondering? (think, think)

T - Write a fic? ;-)

Me - Then it will most likely turn out to be a horror story.... :D

T - Yes! I give you free reign to kill me in the most gruesome and embarrassing way. Fictionally. :-)

Me - Mhmm, interesting. Not sure if I will kill YOU, but ... there's something lurking in the endless blackness of my mind. :)

*****

It must be the most stupidest thing that ever happened to me in my life. I was tired. And wet. It had been raining all day. I’ve always known my life sucked, but this day it sucked more than any other had ever sucked before. One of those days, where I just should not have gotten out of bed, but just pretend to be dead.

Recap: I overslept my alarm. In a hurry I tried to my make breakfast and that is when I found out that I had forgotten to put the milk back in the fridge. It had turned. Consequence: No milk for my cornflakes. Left home without breakfast, missed my bus, had to take next, which was of course stuffed with people who had also missed the previous bus…

At the train-station, my card didn’t let me in until my 5th attempt and just as I ran up the stairs I see my train leave the station… And this was just my first hour…. I eventually got to work, had to listen to the usual lecture on punctuality from my boss, but, at last, I was at my desk. Time to get to work.

Switched on my computer, went to get coffee, expecting my computer to be ready by the time I got back. But by the time I got back, there was smoke coming out of the back of my computer… Somewhere I had the feeling this computer wouldn’t last through the day. Called IT. Had to wait for another computer…..

It finally arrived, had to be installed, which didn’t exactly go without any issues, missing passwords and 10 million phone-calls between the two guys from IT. (I suspect they’re a couple. That would be so cute) Finally able to get to work, by now, it’s nearly one in the afternoon…

Had a dozen emails, all complains about this or that – Well, I do work at customer services. No one ever mails to say they’re happy with what they bought. I’m already glad that I have to never talk to people on the phone again. Of course, my work wasn’t done at five and I had to stay longer to finish my job.

It’s seven by the time I leave the office. It’s getting dark. I’m hungry. I’m tired. And it’s starting to rain again…. probably because I haven’t had enough misery today. At the train-station it’s busy and there’s standing-room only for most of the trip. Get off the train. At the bus-stop, too early. Bus late. Me, wet.

I’m done. So done. All I want is hot tea when I get home. It’s nearly an erotic fantasy. It’s what’s on my mind as the bus slowly goes from stop to stop. Go home, change in pajamas and curl up in bed with hot tea and a nice book. With each drop of rain that hits the windows of the bus the dream becomes bigger, warmer, fuzzier….

Finally! My stop. I run through the rain, which has now become torrential and I’m glad that my house is only 4 minutes away from the bus-stop. I get home, run up the stairs to the second floor, where I live, and I open the door to my place. In the almost dark place I go to the kitchen, but as I enter the kitchen I feel an incredible pain in my side.

And that is the point I’m at now. I look down and in my side is my kitchen-knife. The large and sharp one. What is it doing there? I don’t know. It was suddenly there. I stare at the blood seeping through my fingers. It makes no sense. The knife should be in the kitchen-drawer, not somewhere mid-air in the middle of the kitchen… Right?

Of course it shouldn’t be. I hear a noise and I look up. I reach for the light-switch. My kitchen bathes in light and I see a person wearing a ski-mask and that person is in my kitchen… Warm blood drips through my fingers and I stare, fascinated, at a person who’s in my house and shouldn’t be there.

“Help.. me.” I hear myself say, but the person seems as frozen and indecisive as me. I stumble backwards against my kitchen counter. I should make tea. Get warm. But instead I sink down, slipping into my blood. “Help me…” I ask again. Instead, the person turns around, switches off the light of the kitchen and runs off.

I hear the door slam. It’s closed. No one will come in. No one will know that I’m here. In this building everyone lives their own lives. The walls are strong and barely no noise crosses from one place to the other. The thing I had liked so much about this place, the solitude, the privacy, is now becoming my death.

I feel cold. The blood continues to seep. I know that I can’t stop it. I’m alone now. No one knows that I’m lying here. I turn on my back. I see lights of the passing cars. So close, so far away… I close my eyes… I should have stayed in bed today… And my last thought is that this has really been a bad day….

THE END

/

   
Tags: 2015, short-story
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