2023-11-16

Razor

a dimly lit chamber, and a bare luminescent glow irradiating from beneath the antique oak door, its bronze round handle oxidated from years of use.

the door was built sturdily, exuding a quiet confidence from the dense wood that made up the door, its substantial thickness ensuring no one could have known what was going on in that room.

a figure, hunched over a lone lamp, tightly grasping a metallic object, its sharp edge, glimmering like a coveted jewel, refracting the rays of lamplight cast upon it.

heavy breathing, so catastrophically heavy that it’s mere presence made any other object seem featherlight in comparison.

the figure bore a pained complexion, as if it was making a decision that weighed heavily on it, its hand quavering with tenseness. Its body, meanwhile, was rigid, akin to muscles contracting, firm and unyielding, resembling stone in its immobility.

a decision had been made, as the figure rashly made a swift incision, as a dark, viscid liquid rapidly spilt forth onto the ground, as the figure wept softly, the hollow sound of the object’s impact with the floor could be heard.

bafflingly, the figure made no attempt to staunch the leaking. With each passing moment, as the figure lost more of its mucous-like substance, its vitality seeped from its soul, or whatever the figure’s equivalent, as it had long since given up its humanity.

what seemed like tears, dribbled down the figure’s face, as the embrace of death greeted it with warm arms, the figure wearing a unnoticeable grimace.

the figure finds solace in its death, the cosmos with its unrelenting barrages, even when the figure has conceded.

seemingly smiling, as the figure closes its eyes,

breathing its last breath.