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February 26, 2008
From the Comments - By Heather S. Ingemar
"Knives"
The morning I woke with a dagger protruding from my chest, I knew I’d taken the wrong girl to bed. Unfortunately, I’m a sucker for blondes.
Sighing, I tugged at the knife. It scraped bone before sliding free, bloodless. I rubbed the puckered slit as I turned the delicate thing in my hands. Engraved vines curled around the grip.
The phone rang, and it was her.
“Thanks for the knife in my ribs,” I said, caustic.
“That’s what you get for being dead.”
As she said it, I felt my body begin to crumble, all to ash.
Damned enchanted knives.
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