This one isn't one of my best, I just thought I'd post it.
Wipe off fridge door handle. One, two, three....
Wipe off fridge door handle. One, two, three....
Open fridge door. Four, five, six....
Take the strawberries out of the fridge. Seven, eight, nine....
Close the door to the fridge. Ten, eleven, twelve....
Wipe off counter. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen....
Place box of strawberries on counter. Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen....
Open box of strawberries. Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one....
Wash strawberries twice. Thrice for good measure. Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four....
Wash knife. Twice, thrice. Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven....
Wash cutting board. Twice, thrice. Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty....
Scrub cutting board. Twice, thrice. Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three....
Wash hands. Scrub hands. Twice, thrice. Thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight....
Cut strawberries right down the middle. Every piece the same size. Thirty-nine......
*Slit*
Blood and strawberry juice slide down her wrist, soaking into her sleeve.
Her eyes grow wide, the knife drops. Forty.
Her leg shoots out in her efforts to lunge for the knife. Forty-one, forty-two....
The knife plunges into her leg. Pain, pain, pain.... Forty-three, forty-four, forty-five....
Blood, strawberry juice, flowing out of her right thigh. Forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight....
Her hand grasps the knife and pulls. Forty-nine....
The knife hits the floor with a clang. Blood, blood, blood, endlessly streaming down her thigh, staining her previously clean skirt....
Her eyes open wide and glaze over. They stay that way. Forever.
Fifty.
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