Papercut

I turned the page and watched as its edge sliced into my soft skin. A momentary flash of pain then my finger birthed a fat droplet of blood which fell on the white pristine pages. Hungrily, the page absorbed the blood, like the desert floor after a long period of drought. Faster and faster the droplets spread outwards as they fell from my finger in attempt to out do each other as they fell on the page. Fascinated, I watched the white page turn crimson from the innundating blood. Then suddenly, the movement ceased. The paper regained the upper hand and the brilliant scarlet of my blood faded to a dull red. I felt oddly bereft. My finger throbbed; reminiscent of the papercut; reminiscent of my heart.

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