sectile
\ SEK-til \ , adjective;
1. capable of being cut smoothly with a knife.
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His arm trembled as he looked at her. The light from the single hanging bulb shined
down on his best, and only, friend. The
girl looked up at him and trembled. Her
bright blue eyes were wide with panic.
He took a deep breath and placed his friend on the exposed skin of her
arm. It would be so easy. Her skin was soft. It would be so easy to cut. Just like a fine cut of meat. It wasn’t even all that different when he
thought about it. After all, humans were
just another animal. That could think. And talk.
And scream. And it was purely coincidence that he counted himself among their
numbers. But that didn’t matter to his
friend.
His
friend wanted to cut her, badly. It had
told him so. Not in words though. His friend didn’t talk. Couldn’t really. It didn’t have a mouth after all. But it still told him. It spoke with him on a deeper level. Spiritual almost. Somehow he always knew what it wanted. It usually wanted to cut things.
At first
his friend had been content with smaller animals. Cats, dogs, birds and the like. He had no hesitation giving his friend what
it wanted then. The animals didn’t show their
fear as his friend bit into their flesh.
It simply glided through them, and he relished the feeling of the
resistance of the meat against his friend, almost as much as it did.
That had
soon proven to be insufficient though.
His friend demanded more. Bigger
animals. More flesh to cut. He had moved up to the large animals. Pigs, sheep, goats and the like. That was harder. Those animals were tricky to find, and even more
so to gain access to. But he had
managed. When those no longer satisfied
his friend, he attempted something even larger.
A horse this time.
The
horse was big enough to fight back though.
His friend didn’t cut into its flesh nearly as easily as the other
animals, and the large beast was strong enough to throw his around. No, the larger animals that his friend craved
couldn’t come from any barnyard beast.
He had to find another kind of flesh.
One that was both easier to find. And to cut.
Humans
were to obvious choice. Plentiful no
matter where he went, and very easy to cut.
He knew that from the times his own skin had been damaged. He chose his mark well. A pretty twenty-something girl with bright
blue eyes and golden hair. If he had
been ten years younger he might have chosen to ask her to dinner. Instead he offered her nothing but a chloroform
soaked cloth.
Now that
same girl looked up at him with silver tape stuck tightly over her mouth, and
bound limbs. She was scared of him. Of his friend. Another set of deep breaths to try and calm
his nerves. He tried to cut her. His arm stopped just before he could. His friend was almost screaming at him
now. It wanted desperately to sink into
her. He couldn’t bring himself to do it
though. Was this his first fight with
his friend?
She
seemed to sense his hesitation. Her eyes
changed from fear to pleading. She was
asking him to let her go. Asking him
with her eyes. Asking him on a deep
level. Spiritual almost. Like his friend did. He wanted to do as she asked. But he also wanted to make his friend
happy. It had always been there for him
after all.
He paced
around the small room. His breathing was
quick, almost as scared as the girls was.
He didn’t know who to listen to.
The girl, one of his own kind, or his friend, who had always been there
for him. A sudden pain in his arm
brought him out of his thoughts. His
friend was there, biting his arm. Dark
red blood oozed out of him and around his friend. His friend was angry at him. He looked from his arm to the girls.
He
walked quickly over to her and placed his arm against hers. Her eyes showed fear again. He was sure he would have screamed and
pleaded with him if her mouth was free.
Taking another series of deep breaths, he pressed his friend deeper into
his skin. Then, he quickly sliced it out
of him and into her. Her body went rigid
with the sudden pain, and he could swear he heard her scream.
He looked
at his friend. No blood. The cut had been too fast and too
shallow. He looked at his arm. Blood leaked from the open cut. He looked at her arm. More blood.
He looked at his hand. He wasn’t trembling anymore. Slowly, he dug the tip of his friend into the
girl’s open wound. It sank deeper into
her flesh smoothly and easily. Just as
he knew it would. He drew it out. There was blood on his friend now. It was happy with that.
His arm
wasn’t shaking anymore. He looked at the
girl, and then to his friend. It was
happy with the small cut, but still wanted more. A small smile formed on his mouth. His friend wanted to cut. The girl had
lots of flesh to cut.
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Remember people, if you think an inanimate object is talking to you, even without 'words', seek psychiatric help. Quickly.
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