CUT! PACKUP.

*fade in*

It's weird. The way the thought develops, builds layer by layer, in subconscious surfaces, and finally snowballs into dimensions that surprise you. I had picked up the paper knife to cut open a manila envelope. The subtle sound of the blade as it ripped apart the paper fibers, gliding its way across like a prize surfer on waters coupled with the liquid vision of the postcard yellow paper that sliced letting the mosaic on the floor to seep through, created a strange concoction in the mind.

This bloomed into the idea of the suave steel taking a lazy walk along the skin of my inner wrist, of letting its feet sink into the greenish blue footpaths of my veins and painting it in red tentacles that spread in liquid fractals across the criss-cross wrinkles. My thumb voluntarily skimmed the edge of the sharp blade in rapt admiration of its edge, like one touches the skin of the beloved to confirm that she is really there, like when you suddenly find your fingers caressing the cold wetness of the lake as your boat glides through. I did not know when it was done. All the while I wondered, why doesn't the pain register?

I never got the answer.

*fade out*