The Knifes Blade – Microfiction Short Story

The spit drips from his lips as he stares fiercely towards his own mirror image, who reflects his gaze with one of perpetual fear.

“You CAN’T understand!” he seethes as he slices the air before himself with the 8 inch blade that he tightly grips in his hand. “I’ve given you everything, been everything you wanted me to be, but you still fail me! You still berate me! Can’t you just let me be who I’m meant to be, and not who you want me to be!”

“I-I-I, I never m-meant to hurt y-you! I just w-wanted you t-to g-grasp your t-true p…” he doesn’t get to finish his fevered statement as he slaps himself across the face with a wide opened hand.

“YOU DON’T GET TO SAY ANYTHING! YOU DON’T DESERVE TO STAND ABOVE ME! YOU WANTED ME TO BE SOMEONE ELSE, YOU WANTED ME TO BE ALL YOU WANTED ME TO BE! YOU DIDN’T WANT ME TO BE ME!” he roars as he thrusts himself against the damp earth beneath them, digging the knife into his neck.

“P-P-Please,” she stammers as he spits into her face.

“There is no please, there is nothing more than what it needs to be, and it needs to be free of the me you wanted me to be!”

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