The metal reflected the sunlight streaming through the window. Its edge glinting, razor sharp and powerful. Blood smeared the fingers that curled purposefully around its handle.
A curse issued from the blade-wielder as he slashed the knife downwards. Slicing through flesh and sinew, his knife struck bone. He mopped his brow, knife still in hand. Wordlessly, he moved the body he was dismembering so that he could slide his knife between its ribs.
So engrossed was he, that the voice behind him made him start. He span round quickly. His eyes coming to rest on a small elderly woman. He could see the defiance in her eyes. He drew a quick breath and moved towards her, the blood still dripping from the knife in his hand.
“What are you doing here, mother? What do you want?”
“Hello, dear. Just popped in to see if you would bring a pound of mince home for tea tonight.” She hardly waited for him to reply, before turning and walking out of the butcher’s shop to finish the rest of her shopping.
© Lindsey Chapman - http://word-weaving.blogspot.com/