I swore as the knife Id been using to dice our dinner bit into my finger. I dropped it on the floor, blood spattering the counter and cupboard doors a furious red. I watched, mesmerised, as the blood welled up and began to seep down my hand; I tried to catalogue the amount of pain I was in. Surprisingly little, I concluded, pushing at the edges of the wound to see how deep it went. Deep enough. I was starting to feel it now, but it didnt hurt so much. Id endured far worse.If it came to it, I could do it. There was comfort in that knowledge.

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About Hazel Butler, Chasing Azrael

Hazel Butler, Chasing Azrael.

Themes

  • Death — Contemplations on mortality, loss, and the legacy we leave

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