Day 80 - Wusthof Story

Wusthof Story

Matthew Ryan Fischer

Evelyn let her right-hand fingers wrap around the black riveted handle of the Nakiri knife and pulled it from the wood storage block.  She liked the way it felt as she clinched her fist around the contoured shape.  It felt natural.  It felt right.  Seamless, with perfect balance for an easy to control cut.  Or so sold the advertisements.  That it was, she thought.  It seemed there was still some truth in advertising.

Evelyn felt like a warrior, poised for battle.  Was this how Templar Knights felt as they held onto the hilt of their weapon?  She swung the knife back and forth through the air.  It sailed smoothly, effortlessly about, as if it had been made for this exact purpose and not as an instrument of food preparation.  Swordsmen must feel like gods.  Evelyn told herself that she should look into fencing lessons.  If a knife could feel this good, a saber must be orgasmic.  Evelyn thought that if she were willing to suffer a cut or two, she might be able to guilt someone into paying for her lessons.

Evelyn held the knife still and stared at it.  It was pretty.  Wide shining silver blade, contrasted by the thin black handle.  They always go for the cook’s knife in horror movies, Evelyn thought.  It looks the most dangerous; it looks like the weapon you would want to hold if someone were breaking in, or use to murder someone if you were so inclined.  The popularity of the cook’s knife probably came because the movie Psycho had made it famous with its shower scene.  Evelyn preferred her 17cm Wusthof Nakiri.  And she preferred baths to showers, but that had little to do with residual paranoia from the movie Psycho, or so she told herself.

Carelessly she ran her left index finger along the blade, mindlessly caressing it.  Evelyn let out a little gasp.  It had been a long time since she had unintentionally drawn her own blood.  Still, the pain was quite nice: an exquisite little pleasure to remind herself that she was still alive.

She smiled.  That was the problem with knives – always so messy.  She set the knife down and squeezed her index finger, trying to quench the bleeding.  She raised her finger to her lips and licked off her blood, taking a moment to marvel at her own taste.  You have to appreciate yourself, Evelyn thought, happy to remind herself that she did indeed love every aspect of herself, even a little something like a sour drop of blood.