My Little Shop - Chapter 1

"Listen," I whisper, "It won't take longer than we anticipated."

The object in my hand is cool to the touch. It's metal, and has a sharp edge. I notice it's an ice pick. It has a light wood colored handle. In fact, it is wood. The handle is wood. It is a wooden handle. In my hand is a wooden handle attached to a long cold metal spike. It isn't damp. It's not wet. But it is cold. Freezing even. It's hard for me to keep my grasp as tight as I'd like it. But it is tight. My hand is tense around the wooden handle.

Then there is the direction of which the fine, sharp tip of the metal spike is pointed: Directly towards the person in front of me. Directly towards her ear. More exactly: Directly in her ear and a thrust away from poking through her skull. She trembles a bit. It's only natural. Her breath is labored, staccato even. Her eyes are so pretty. A piercing blue which seem to match the temperature of this freezing cold wooden handle in my hands.

Through her lips, "Will it hurt?"