The Crass Knife

A few days ago, Andrea brought home a new kitchen knife. I haven't slept since.

At first I thought "Cool, it's molded from one piece of steel" and thought no more about it. Later that day, though, I needed to cut up a turnip I found by the road which will hold off starvation another week. As soon as my fingers touched the silver handle, I knew something was wrong.

Steel, and anything else natural, has mass and experiences friction. This blade does neither, it just falls through turnips as if they weren't there. Although I think it would fall if you lifted it and let go, that might be a bluff.

It is flawlessly silver and is made from one piece, as if grown. The blade is so flat that it does not reflect any light, not even diffuse light, except when it's at the precise angle of reflection. It is like a shard of obsidian used in some forgotten human sacrifice. Unsettled, I threw it into the draw and resolved to eat everything from now on using only the chopsticks that happened to be on the draining board.

I went into the kitchen that night to get a glass of water. I flicked on the light. It was on the countertop. Balancing on the handle, wobbling slightly, it slowly spun around until the blade pointed at my heart.

I know it's still there.