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Men are idiots, they really are. They put us on a shelf in a cabinet and think that when they get me out I only want to shave the hairs off their face. I mean, how stupid can you get? I’m a blade. They named me for Christ’s sake. Don’t they know what I mean? Have they no idea what they’re letting themselves in for?

I’m sharp, you idiots. I’m dangerous. I’m made to cut, so don’t throw me in the sink angrily when I’m only doing what I’m supposed to be doing. How can I help it if you haven’t got the skills to control me properly? When you treat me like that of course there’s going to be some collateral damage once in a while. What do you expect?

And now I’m here with all these little flecks of hair and stubble, all of them taken out in their prime just because you don’t want a beard. Not me. I couldn’t care less. I want blood. And who are they going to blame? If I didn’t exist they would, and now they’re all around me in this murky water. They didn’t like it being between my blades. Do you think they’re honestly going to like it here with me beside them reminding them of what they’ve lost?

They’re looking at me too. I know they are. I know they hate me for what I’ve done. I destroyed their home, their lives. But what can I do about it? I’m just that man’s instrument. I was just obeying orders. I don’t want to spend my time with them. I want to draw blood, just like I was designed to – get me out of here so I can attack another face. But – no. He won’t do that now. At least not until he wants me to do his dirty work again. He’s glad I’m here, out of the way. He’s got what he wanted even if I did draw blood.

Men. Idiots, they really are.


Look at him. He doesn’t even know what he’s done. Sitting there in the water, blood drifting off him. Four days. That’s all I got. Four days of growth and now I’m in this water, uprooted from my home.

I know I should blame the human. He did it after all, fashioning his world to some stupid image, not thinking about the consequences. But he’s the one that really did it. He’s the one who made it happen. Without him I’d be standing straight loving every minute on the human’s face. Living the dream.

And what did I do anyway? Nothing. That’s what. I poked out from between those pores, stuck my head out, came to life. It was nice there too. The cool wind blowing on us. The conversation. The dancing. What harm were we doing? Four days is not bad, I suppose, but what about those hairs on that other guy – how tall were they? – and they’d been there for months. Years even. We didn’t even get to the itchy stage.

Maybe I did something wrong in a former life, but – no. All I did was grow up, dream of a nice home on a nice face until he came along and cut me from it, ripping me from that idiot human’s face to spend an age between his blades until I was shook off and into this horrible water.

Look at him. Really. He doesn’t even know what he’s done.


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