Razor Blade

She pulled out a razor blade, the kind one would find in a box cutter, and held it up in the air, ready to strike at a moment’s notice.

“Don’t move an inch,” she said.

He didn’t move an inch.

“You caught me, alright. I’ll admit that. Why don’t you just put that down, and we can talk this out?”

“There’s nothing to talk about. You need to leave.”

“I’m not leaving until I get what I came for.” He laughed and said, “You think you can stop me with that little razor blade?” He lunged forward and grabbed her arm to try to subdue her. In that instant, she swung her arm down and slashed his forearm.

He recoiled. Blood ran down his arm. It stained the beige carpet.

“I’m not fucking around,” she said.

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Collected in Brief Moments of Life