A Life

 The knife twists slowly. She sees beautiful things under it's pain. She doesn't stop it. And she is not surprised; it twists because it must.

    She knows that to stop it would be a fool's errand.

    To hurry it up would be to miss its beauty.

    It is a knife, nothing more and nothing less. The twist is what makes it interesting.

    She is interested. Absorbingly so. Yet, from time to time, she stops, takes a moment to watch. Those moments are agony—unbearable and wretched. Best to ignore; best to take the pain and live.

    All too soon the twist halts. The pain is over. And so, she thinks, is the beauty. 

    But she has had beauty enough; she can give it up.

    Save, something beautiful comes. That is indeed a surprise. She smiles.

    She goes on then, as though she never was. 

    Except... except, the scar shows otherwise: she was. 

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