Cutting Edge

Assignment to write a short piece from the perspective of something non-human. Originally published November 2023.

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I've lost count of how many times I've been beheaded now. It happens every what? 2 months or so. My throat gets squeezed and my head gets ripped off. Hot water gets poured down my oesophagus and then I get hung upside down, letting all pour out again. Hairs that were stuck in there flow out. Sometimes I get shaken. Violently. To get all the hair out. I hate the process but when the new head gets clicked into my throat I feel somewhat good. Fresh. New. Reborn, though still hints of the old my hiding beneath. And then the job starts again.

Sometimes I have to work when it's dry, but most of the time it's pouring down. I feel my head melting a bit, but it makes the job easier. Less resistance. I get pushed onto a squishy savannah, dragged down and tasked with biting and snapping away the grass. When the savannah ends, the action is repeated. Sometimes in the same place, to make sure I didn't miss any grass, sometimes more towards the left or right, to start removing grass there. It goes on and on until the savannah is completely barren, and I'm filled with black grass.

On the one hand, I hate my job. On the other, I've never done anything else. I heard there's worse stuff out there. A long thin one got dropped next to me once. He had bristles for hair. He looked terribly worn out. Apparently his job was to go caving twice a day and clean all the scolecite gems inside. There were about 32 of those gems. So yeah, life could be worse. But that didn't mean I had to accept mine.

I wanted to try something new. The next time I got pushed onto the squishy savannah I realised that I've always just solely focussed on the grass. I wonder what the dirt between felt like. Squishy. A few bumps here an there, slightly red. I glide my teeth over its terra firma, cutting away the grass. I get picked up and put back at my starting spot. Only one patch of grass that I missed, but otherwise I have free reign over the field.

I cut the grass and as the blades were swept down by the rain, I pushed myself down and bit into the earth. A slit opened. If it wasn't for the liquid that poured out I wouldn't have seen it. It was bright red, and probably would've been a lot thicker if it wasn't for the water washing it down. It spilled for a while, and the only reason I could stare at it for so long was because I got pulled away the moment I bit into the earth. It felt like a punishment. As if to say "Look at what you did, you weren't supposed to do that." The loud roar that came from somewhere beyond the horizon didn't help. It sounded painful.

Ever since I tried to avoid biting the earth, but sometimes I can't help myself. I get pushed too hard, and it looks tasty. Every time the red liquid came pouring out I wondered what that tasted like. It's a shame I always get snatched away. Sometimes to continue, sometimes to get placed on the dish, next to the forgotten piece of cheese that lived there. Never talked to it, it repulsed me. On the dish I looked at the monster made of that squishy savannah, grass covering all of it's surfaces from afar, the rain pouring down on it. Every time I saw how much grass, the cheese called it hair, covered the savannah monster I felt lucky I was only ever forced to eat one surface of it.

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Ever wondered what it's like to be a razor? Me neither.