I take a long, deep, really deep, like the earth’s core deep, or blue, black sea deep (take your pick), shaky breath.

My eyes squint ominously; unconsciously, my lips purse firmly in a thin line. I focus my whole mind, one hundred percent of my working brain, on the important job ahead.

Scrutinizing the flesh carefully, I study its every crook, fold, and bend. Mentally, I draw a partition line to the part where the blade should strike first. Then, after that, on where I would follow it up with more sharp, quick cuts to accomplish my goal: sever it from its base.

Slowly, I pick up the butcher’s knife, gripping its handle tight to prevent it from slipping off my clammy, trembling hands.

It’s now or never, I tell myself.

Do or die.

Don’t dare turn tail now, Denise. You’ve waited patiently for this moment.

I nod inwardly, agreeing with my alter ego.

Raising my right hand clenching the knife, I aim at the imaginary demarcation line I have etched in my mind.

And. . . whoop! I put the blade down in one fell swoop.

Blood spurts out from the gaping wound instantly.

Blood propels itself to my cheeks and lips. Instinctively, my tongue licks some of it.

My, it tastes delicious. Sweet. Like ketchup. Can’t help but lick it more.

All of a sudden, a familiar face looms in front of me.

A familiar, pretty, fuming face, her pink mouth growling at me, her pert nose wrinkled in irritation, and her black eyes fiery like those of a dragon about to spit fire.

“Denise! Snap out of it!”

Back to reality.