Slip-Sliding

Slip-Sliding

 

Cool denim slides against my side as the warm but rough hand grabs my handle and pulls me out. Wondering what my design of destruction is this time being used for, I look anxiously around the place once my eyes come over the edge of the denim. I take in the scene before me, a clean organized looking building with large blue-gray tiles and a young woman in a smart uniform behind a counter with a computer, waiting on many tired looking people in a line. You speak, and I mentally turn to see your mouth move.

            “Everyone get down!” My owner says and I am held in the air with one hand, while the other holds my brother of another design, black metal and lead that fires so loud when made to go off. I am afraid of Brother, as I suppose many are afraid of me. The people duck and dive as Brother explodes his fury out on the world, clothes are rumpled and dust coated as they slide against the ground, seeking unattainable cover; they want to hide from Brother.             
            A foolish young man tries to retaliate while your Friend is making the uniformed woman tremble while slowly handing him green paper, which he stuffs carelessly into a large black canvas bag. I yearn to cry out to him, to get out of my path, but the man pays no heed to my wordless warnings, and soon I am silenced by a sickening rip: that of flesh, as I am plunged deep into the man’s warm upper leg. I slip-slide around for a moment, before I am pulled out and the man collapses onto the dusty ground. Yes, I may be afraid of Brother, but as many are afraid of me.

Author's Note

This was a challenge piece that my friend and I did. Written from the POV of a knife in a theives pocket.
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