from The Churning
The man and the knife are in my face so fast it’s amazing—the speed! A blade is against my jaw. It presses into the soft flesh at the top of my throat.
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The man needs a shower. In the dark, I see (or imagine) lots of red veins in his eyes. One cheek is scarred.
“Is this the way it’s gonna be? Want your throat slit? Think that'll feel good?”
I snort—I actually snort. “You tell me. Looks like you’ve been on the end of a couple knives before.”
His weapon bites into my neck. He’s pressing hard. Trying harder, I’d say, not to do it.
“You really want this? To bleed like a stuck pig in this shithouse?”
My neck itches. Blood is running.
“That would suit me just fine. Better than sitting here for another minute with a dumb-fuck like you. Do it! Get it over with!”
The knife comes away slowly. He stands up, giving me a peculiar look, his eyebrow pinched in confusion.
What happens now? For a moment, my captor stands there and watches me.
“Fucking crackers,” he says.
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