A knife in the pocket of a thief

a knife’s perspective

Here I am in the pocket of my master.I wonder what his plan his, how he plans to execute his mission.I sit there dreading the moment where i will have to pass through most flesh ,the moment when my smooth stainless steel will have a cover of sour blood.I wait

wait for the moment when a scream will echo in the room ….and my ears forever.The time comes close i think to myself when blood will drip from my blade, the time is near when a limp body is the result of my action and my masters’ deed. I go through the routine that I hate ,only for the moment when fresh water flows on blade ,It washes away the dried-blood on my steel also taking with it my sins.Glistening with drops of clear water ,my steel has been returned its sheen.I will lay on the table wondering when next my master will pick me up,Wondering whether my master will proud of me,wondering why I was a knife.