Wednesday, May 2, 2007

a rush of blood to the head

I gasped as I felt the sharp, quick pain. Blood poured from the new wound as I quickly grabbed the nearest towel.

I had sharpened the knife only a few minutes ago. I wanted it to slice the steaks with quick, clean strokes. I ended up also slicing my finger with a quick, clean stroke. It was not terribly bad; my finger had not fallen off.

I removed the towel and looked at my finger. With a small piece of skin flapping and copious amounts of blood, it looked a lot worse that it really was.

He led me through the apartment to the deepest room, his master bathroom. He fiddled through two first-aid kits and numerous tiny packets. My head filled with clouds.

I removed the towel to once again glance at my finger. More blood.

"I think I'm going to faint." I said softly as I slipped to the ground. I sat criss-cross-applesauce--the politically correct term for sitting Indian style--on the chocolate colored mat and he handed me a clean towel. The old one had been the one I used when I was cooking and was probably covered in a whole disgusting number of germs.

My ears were ringing. So loudly. I wasn't sure why; it was just a little cut. I'm not even that squeamish--except when it comes to food mold, I can't handle food mold.

He leaned down and put some clear goo from a tiny packet onto my finger. As the pressure was relieved, it bled some more. My head was still filled with clouds and me ears were still ringing.

I wiped off the blood with the clean towel once more before he wrapped the small wound in a band-aid.

We went back to the kitchen.

"Maybe you should cut the rest of the steaks..."

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