Chaska
Posts: 301
Joined: 7/15/2016
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Since I lost my wife about four years ago, then my daughter a bit over four mouths now. 4 n' 4 seems time to share this.
She took the cold metal from his hand and felt the balance and the weight in hers. She felt the grip that seemed at home in her hand; she knew this piece of steel better then a lovers body. She had felt the bite to many times in the past,feeling it etch designs in to her own skin, more often then not just for the shear pleasure of it. She had never been on this side of the elegant blade, to look down the back bone to the needle fine tip. As she rolled the handle in her hand, she saw the reflections of her eyes in the shiny surface.Her blue eyes were not wavering as she thought about what he had asked her to do.
The fear was there, for she knew deadly this knife could be. The handle six inches long and contoured to fit his hand. Its construction a nice hard wood that had soaked in his sweat and oils from each time he had wielded it. The blade seven and a half inches with a tonto cut on the last one and a half inches. It was a wide blade, and thick. That is what gave it balance but not what made it dangerous. The edge, now there was the portion where lethalness lies.The edge was kept honed to a scalpels perfection, with each pass no matter how light the touch she knew it would bring the life fluid out of it's natural home. It would bring the blood out of the skin.
He knew blade even better then she did. He had caressed it to many times , held it ever so lovingly. It had become a portion of his self. How many times had he used it to draw the crimson liquid to the pale surface? How many times had he seen the blood as it slithered and spread across silky smooth skin? He knew the weight of it as it rested in the sheath on his side, he felt naked when it wasn't with him. Now he had turned it over to her. He had never been afraid of this thing of beauty, yet he knew how deadly it could be. He was asking her to cut, to destroy, to remove from him what was considered as his heart. The question was, If it were removed would he still be able to live? Would he still be able to heal? Could he find the will to survive it?
As she first cuts the screams began. No one watching the ritual could tell from whose lips the sounds came from. They could not deny that both of them were in pain. Tears streaked both faces, dripping from their chins as the blood flowed freely. For him it wasn't the pain of the cuts that brought the anguish it was knowing the heart was being removed. For her it wasn't removing the heart that caused the grief it was knowing there would be a void where it had been.
When the job was done she sat the blade down, knowing she would never be able to look at it the same again. Her eyes were blood shot from the crying as she stood to leave. She discarded the heart in the dirt, for someone else to come along and dispose of it. The deed was done and she could not stand the idea of what she had been asked to do.
For him it was over, there would be a scar over what will always be a reminder of where the heart had been. The pain would subside in time, he hoped, The heart he had designed that was on him and another was no longer a part of him. No longer tying them together. Lying face down, he could not see what she had done with it. All he could do was say "thank you" as she left, but, in his soul he believed, He believed she had taken that piece of him with her. He knew his heart had just left. Now it was time to heal, a time to learn how to live with out being whole.
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My Heart - 
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