When I was little, the world was gray. The world is still gray. Every day I look at my wrist and imagine the blood. Blood I enjoy. I was 2 when I first remember. The world was already gray. I was alone. Isolated. I imagined, no I planned, no, simulated in my mind. That I would stay up – so late. My mom would be asleep. I would have to be so quiet. But she always sensed me. I would sneak into the kitchen and take the sharpest knife. Then crawl towards her bed. If she wakes up, where do I hide the knife? If I reach her unnoticed, am I strong enough to slit her throat? If I am, will granny wake before it is her turn? I knew I would not be put away forever, because I was too young. But I knew if she was there I would have to live with her and I preferred my mom, while I was ready to rid myself of her forever.
The world is still gray. Blood I enjoy.