My hands worked quickly. My left hand sliding and slipping on the form it held, the knife I held in my right hand sliced down and red seeped from the cut it made. The knife went deeper, still the red oozed and spread slowly across the table, forming little pools, so red.
Half an hour I had been here, my knife working continuously. I sometimes had to pause while cramp took hold. I shook my hand, working the fingers slowly. The cramp passed, it had to, there was no time to have cramp, my task was too urgent. My hands were stained red. The colour soaked into the pores of my fingers, it would be the devil to scrub them clean afterwards but I continued nonetheless.
The knife, ever hungry, crying tears of red. I tried to clean up as I worked but to no avail. Sweat started to drip from my hair into my eyes, the stinging sensation forcing me to blink and stop cutting. I wiped the sweat from my forehead. Finally my work here was done.
Only a salad chef can appreciate the finer points of dicing a fresh beetroot.
I was cringing reading this, but I couldn’t stop reading it. I literally laughed out loud at the end. Ku-dos. Kudos to you and your skills.
Thank you, much appreciated.
Lol…xD for a moment, I thought the character was butchering away at his/her unlucky spouse xD
Beetroot is awesome haha. ❤ great job, my dear.
Evening Dearest, sorry for the delay, you were spammed for some reason. Thank you for getting back.
The idea did come to me in the kitchen, I think I need to get back there for more inspiration, if not then a pot of Karkade tea has a nice colour 🙂
The gory allusions were so blunt that I suspected we were headed for a twist. Been enjoying salads lately, Farlesworthy?
Absolutely John, although I’ve no idea what I’ll write in winter…
Thanks for reading.